


Visiting the Future

by salanaland, VampireBadger



Series: Visitorverse [17]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Relationships on a time limit, Time Travel, Visitorverse, Why are there so many characters?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 43,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8033179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salanaland/pseuds/salanaland, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VampireBadger/pseuds/VampireBadger
Summary: Visitorverse, post-Homecoming. It's pretty crowded with all the visitors living together, and it's about to get worse: the second generation of visitors has just shown up in the present day. But this isn't a permanent stay; they're here for one year. Parents have one more year with their children. Lovers have one year to be together. It won't be long enough, but it's all they have.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's rather a lot of OCs in this, so here's a quick guide to them:
> 
> OCs from the past, all B-team visitors:
> 
> Jacob Kidd (Assassin, not to be confused with Jacob Frye) is Edward's daughter by James Kidd.  
> Matthew (Assassin) is Connor's son.  
> Rory (Assassin) and Jeanne (Templar) are Shay and Aveline's children.
> 
>  
> 
> OCs from the present day:
> 
> Sage (no affiliation, visitor to other Sages) is Desmond's son, a Sage.  
> Elena (Assassin, B-team visitor) is Desmond and Lucy's daughter.  
> Geraldine (former Assassin, not a visitor) is Shay and Aveline's daughter.  
> Grace (Templar, not a visitor) is Shay, Aveline and Haytham's daughter (it's complicated). She calls Shay 'papa' and Haytham 'dad'.  
> James (Templar, not a visitor) is Desmond and Evie's son.

Ezio's phone rings five times in the five minutes just after midnight. He eventually gets tired of hitting the reject button, and answers it—the caller ID says it's Elena, which is odd but not unusual. They do talk, of course, and the last time he checked she was still out in Tokyo. There's a pretty big time difference, and she might have just forgotten.

Or something might be wrong, although Ezio doesn't want to think so. It would have to be _really_ wrong for Elena to be calling him instead of Desmond. Maybe Desmond isn’t picking up--Ezio isn’t exactly sure where he is at the moment, or what mission he’s working on. The closer Abstergo gets to falling, the harder they fight. All the visitors have been stretched thin trying to keep up with it, and Desmond might have a perfectly valid reason to not pick up Elena’s call, which would mean she has a perfectly valid reason to be calling Ezio instead--

He thinks about this for so long that the phone rings out and goes to voicemail.

Oh well. Ezio is still weighing the advantages of calling Elena back vs falling asleep again when she calls him for the sixth time. Ezio sighs and finally answers. "Hey," he says, yawning. "Elena, what's wrong?"

"Dad?"

The voice on the phone is a stranger's—the only thing Ezio can tell for sure is that he's male, and slightly upset. Ezio can hear him breathing high and fast on the other end of the line. Tired as he is, it takes Ezio a moment or two to realize that the man is speaking in Italian.

"…what?" he asks, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Dad!" There's a brief sound like a scuffle on the other end of the line, like the person holding the phone has fumbled the phone, dropped it, and then picked it up again. "Dad, it's me."

"Who?" Ezio asks. He feels about six steps behind in the conversation, and then somehow it gets even worse.

"It's Marcello."

Now it is Ezio's turn to almost drop his phone. His heart is hammering hard in his chest, and it takes him long, awful moments to fully process this. It feels like there are fireworks bursting in his mind, explosions of understanding and surprise  _ rocking  _ him, rocking his world on its axis. This can't be true.

"Marcello…" he hesitates, staring at nothing, but in his mind's eye, a beaming toddler  _ runs  _ across a kitchen that smells of home, chasing his sister and shrieking with delight.  And then the vision fades, replaced as always with the rock hard knowledge that  _ his son is dead _ , that he has been dead for centuries, that (according to Elena) he hadn't even left children behind.

"I don't know who you are," Ezio says. "And I don't know where you heard that name, but you are  _ not  _ to use it again."

"What? No!"

"So whatever game you think you're playing, you sick  _ bastard,  _ stop. Now. For your own good. I—"

"Dad!" The word is choked by tears. "Dad I really,  _ really  _ need you."

Ezio stands where he is, shaking and suddenly indecisive. He wants to believe in this, and that's what makes him so angry. It's not fair that someone has gotten hold of Marcello's name and is using it against him, not when he wants more than anything to just see him again. Flavia too, of course, but hearing Elena talk to Marcello,  _ knowing  _ he's there and being unable to see or hear him, is a special brand of torture.

"Ezio?" Connor comes to stand in the doorway, looking more disheveled than usual. "What's wrong?"

"Someone playing a joke," Ezio says. "Pretending to be my son."

Connor holds out his hand for the phone, and after a moment Ezio hands it over. It's only the two of them here at the moment, the others are coming in tomorrow. Of the two of them, Connor is more likely to be able to handle this calmly.

"Who is this?" Connor says, half turning away from Ezio to concentrate on his phone conversation.

"He  _ says  _ he's my son—"

"Go," Connor says, pointing Ezio toward the door. "I can't hear a thing if you keep interrupting."

Ezio sulks but does as he's told. There's not much room inside so he climbs out a window and goes to sit on the roof. But it's hard to sit still so he paces instead, back and forth, back and forth, until finally Connor comes up and joins him.

"Well?" Ezio asks.

"Sit," Connor says.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Ezio demands. "Is it good news or bad?"

"It's the kind of news you should be sitting for," Connor says, and he refuses to say anything else until both of them are settled next to each other on the roof. He hands the phone back to Ezio, moving with what seems like purposeful slowness.

"Did you at least figure out what happened?" Ezio asks.

"I got the whole story, yes," Connor says. "And I happen to believe it."

"What… what is the whole story?"

Very gently, Connor hands Ezio's phone back to him. He taps it with one finger (by now Ezio is ready to burst with anticipation) and says, "That was your son."

And because it is Connor saying it, Ezio believes him at once. "How do you know?"

A smile flickers across Connor's face. "He's nearly as irritating as you, first of all."

Ezio huffs at this, but he can't be upset about that just now. "Lots of people are obnoxious," he says. "Marcello is dead, Connor. I wish every day that he wasn't, but—"

"There was an accident with a piece of Eden," Connor says. "Elena found one somewhere and—no one's hurt, Ezio." He has to add this quickly, because Ezio suddenly starts forward, looking alarmed. "But it brought all of B-Team into this year."

"They're here?"

Connor smiles at him. "They're here. Look." And he flips through Ezio's phone until he gets to his texts. There are two pictures there, a bit blurry and out of focus but still clear enough to recognize most of the people in it. The first shows seven people at various ages—the youngest looks about twenty, twenty one, the oldest… maybe Elena, who Ezio knows for a fact is thirty one. They're all out cold, sprawled across a dusty floor and surrounded by what Ezio recognizes by now as precursor architecture.

Ezio's eyes go to Elena first, because he sees her often and recognizes her quickly. Then he starts to identify the others from long ago visits. Rory, Jeanne. Matthew. Darim. He never saw Jacob as a young woman, but he would recognize her anywhere. There is so much of Mary in her face, so much of Edward, that she could never have been anywhere else's daughter. The woman at her side, dirty and frowning even in sleep, is probably Jenny.

That only leaves Marcello.

Ezio's eyes flick down to the second picture, to the young man there, grinning a little nervously into the phone's camera. He looks about twenty-five, handsome but not remarkably so, with a thin cut over one eye and dirt all across his face. He barely resembles the child in Ezio's memories at all, but there is something of Sofia in his face. There's a bit of Federico there too, an unexpected reminder of a face Ezio had thought he'd forgotten long ago.

"That's my son?" Ezio asks, his voice quavering a little. "Did he take the picture?"

"I asked for proof that his story was true," Connor says. "He sent these."

"Where did he learn to use a  _ phone _ ?" Ezio asks, but Connor only shrugs in reply.

"I suppose he's seen Elena use them before," Connor says. "He seems intelligent, I'm sure it wasn't hard for him to figure this all out."

Pride flickers in Ezio's chest. "I thought you said he was irritating."

"He's both irritating and intelligent. He knows a lot about first civilization artifacts, too. He tried to explain the thing that brought them all here, but honestly he lost me completely. All I know is that they're all here. The thing that brought them knocked them all out, and Marcello woke up first. When he couldn't get the others to wake right away, he borrowed Elena's phone and called you."

"For help," Ezio says softly. "And I shouted at him."

Connor does not try to comfort him. He stands instead, and offers Ezio a hand. "Come on," he says.

"Where are we going?"

"To get them, of course," Connor says.

Ezio nods numbly, taking the proffered hand. "How can this be real?" he asks. "I mean—" he glances again at the picture. “They should be in their own times. How does this even make sense?”

Connor pauses, considering. "I suppose they won't be here for long," he says sadly. "There was a year when Matthew went missing, I remember. He traveled to Europe, hunting a target that had been avoiding the assassins for several years. I did not hear from him once during that time. Eventually he came home again, and I was so… grateful just to have him back that I never really asked what had happened. But, um—"  Ezio has to turn and look at Connor then, because he can't quite believe that he's hearing tears there. Connor is half turned away, hastily wiping his face, trying to recover his composure. "I think that must have been this year. He never wrote, never sent a single message, because he couldn't. He was here, in this century, for a year. We get one more year with them."

"A whole year," Ezio says. He's crying too. "I've never had an adult conversation with Marcello. A few words through Elena, but—"

"Let's  _ go _ ," Connor says, more urgently now. "A year isn't nearly long enough, and I don't want to waste any of it."

-//-

Far away, Marcello leans against the wall of the underground cave, toying absently with Elena's phone. He's already run the battery down messing with it, puzzling through what it does and also taking pictures of himself making stupid faces for her to find later. Now he's just waiting for his friends to wake up, and trying not to think about his father shouting over the phone. Connor had done his best to assure Marcello that his father hadn't really meant it, but…

His father has never been angry at him before. Not like that. The closest he'd gotten was the time when Marcello was five and had run off after a stray dog he'd been told not to play with—when it nearly bit Marcello, his father had given him a stern lecture about listening to people that were trying to keep him safe, and then Marcello had cried and his father had hugged him until he fell asleep.

He hadn't called Marcello a sick bastard, the way he had today.

Thoroughly miserable now, Marcello scoots along the wall to sit next to Darim. This Darim is young enough that he might not have fallen in love with Marcello yet—it's hard to tell while he's sleeping. When Darim wakes up, Marcello will be able to tell right away. Darim is good at looking stern and serious and assassiny, most of the time, but his eyes show absolutely everything he's feeling. As soon as Darim opens his eyes and looks at Marcello, Marcello will be able to tell whether or not he is in love.

He  _ really  _ hopes so. Darim doesn't give the greatest hugs in the world, but Marcello loves Darim and so he loves Darim's hugs. And he needs a hug so badly right now, but if Darim doesn't love him yet…

_ You sick bastard _

Marcello lowers himself to the ground, wiggling himself into Darim's arms until he feels safe. If Darim wakes up and doesn't love Marcello yet, he'll just make some comment about Marcello being strange. It won't be the first time.

But Darim must be close to waking, because Marcello's jostling and wiggling manages to knock him out of his sleep. "Hey," he says. "What's going… where are we?"

Marcello turns over, heart hammering in his chest, his eyes seeking out Darim's—and there it is. The love. Marcello lets out a breath of relief and sinks his face into Darim's chest. So that's okay. One thing in the world, at least, is okay right now.


	2. Chapter 2

Between the two of them, Marcello and Darim manage to get the rest of their visitors awake. The eight of them gather in a tight circle, and Marcello looks around at them all. It's rare for them all to be together like this, and he's curious how they'll all behave in a group.

He looks up at Darim, because he's leaning on him already and anyway Darim's face is practically magnetic. Marcello has a hard time keeping his eyes away. When Darim feels Marcello watching him, he looks down and quirks an eyebrow in a  _ what are you doing  _ kind of way. He looks relatively calm, but Marcello knows him well enough to recognize a trace of anxiety in the lines around his eyes. Marcello grins at him and looks away, leaning his head onto Darim's shoulder. He has  _ incredibly  _ nice shoulders.

Next to Darim is Jacob. She looks tired and slightly confused (she'd been the last to wake up), but Jeanne sits next to her, rubbing circles on her back and giving her a shoulder to lean on. She looks a lot calmer than her girlfriend, even happy. A quick glance around shows Marcello that Jeanne is the youngest one here. She has the bright eyed look Marcello remembers seeing in her just after she and Jacob had gotten together, which puts her at twenty years old, just  _ barely _ a full templar.

Next to the two of them are Elena and Matthew. They're in the middle of a quick, whispered conversation, but Matthew sees Marcello looking and shakes his head to cut the conversation short. Interesting. Are they keeping secrets? He'll have to pry his way into whatever they'd been talking about later.

Rory is on Elena's other side, very pointedly not looking at his sister. And next to him, on Marcello's other side, is Jenny. She looks terribly alone in this group of couples, and Marcello separates from Darim long enough to lean over and give her a hug. She gives him a little smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"So, um—" Jacob clears her throat and speaks up. "What are we all doing here?"

"Piece of Eden," Marcello says, pointing at the thing in the middle of the circle. He'd recognized it at once, he's spent years researching pieces of Eden. Anything to help the others, since he's not allowed to actually be an assassin. This thing, whatever it is (it doesn't look like anything in particular, not like the apple looks like an apple or the shroud looks like a shroud) is what’s brought them here.

It's a thing he could go on and on about for ages, because yes, actually, he has done his homework. But the short version is that the (very few) accounts of it he's read of say it's a thing that carries people through time. Turns out that's true. So… that's cool. He opens his mouth to say more about the thing, explain what little he knows of how it works, but Darim nudges him and shakes his head.

"Time and a place," he says softly, and Marcello scowls, then sighs.  _ Time and a place for showing off how smart you are _ , that's what Darim means. He's started working with Marcello on his self-control. Running his mouth off keeps getting him into trouble. This is obviously  _ not _ the time or place to go off on a rant about what he knows of precursor technology, not when 'this is a Piece of Eden and now we're in the future' is basically all they need.

"What were you messing around with a Piece of Eden for?" Jacob asks, looking at Elena. "This is your time, isn't it?"

"Yes," she says. But she's stiff, and doesn't say anything else. Marcello straightens a bit, curious—maybe this is what she'd been arguing with Matthew about.

"What did you do?" he asks.

Elena colors quickly. "Nothing!" she says, far too quickly.

" _ What _ ?" Marcello insists.

"Marcello…" Darim mutters.

"Tell them," Matthew says quietly, to Elena.

"But—"

"Tell them," Matthew insists.

She sighs and drops her eyes to the ground. "I heard about this thing a few months ago," she says. "I heard it was supposed to do things. With time, you know? And I… I thought…" She takes a shuddering breath. "I wanted you all here. I'm sorry, it was selfish, but I thought hey, why not? All our parents got to live with each other. So—I'm sorry. I should have talked to you before dragging you out of your times, and I didn't."

Jenny gets up first, she runs across the circle and hugs Elena. "I can't be angry with you," she says simply. "I don't know how long we'll be here. But however long it is, that's time I won't have to be a prisoner. Thank you."

"Sure," Rory says uncertainly. "It's great for you, Jenny. And it's nice seeing all of you in person." He shoots a scowl at Jeanne that very clearly means  _ it's nice seeing  _ most  _ of you in person.  _ "But we all have lives at home. What happens to those lives if we're stuck in this century? I don't want to be here forever."

"Why not?" Jeanne asks testily. She'd obviously seen the look as well. "Your whole life is the Brotherhood. You don't have a wife or children, you don't have—"

"I have enough," Rory snaps. "I have—"

"We all have each other," Darim says firmly. "Okay? Rory, you must have visited at least some of us older than this. I know I've seen  _ you  _ older, safely back in your own time. So we're obviously going home at some point." Jenny makes a sad little noise. "But for now, let's just enjoy this."

Rory hesitates. Then nods. He even smiles a little. "I really am glad to be with you all," he admits. Again, he glances at Jeanne. Well, this is going to be fun.

"What do we do now?" Jeanne asks. "Just… hang out for however long we're here?"

"I'm sure we'll find  _ something  _ to do," Matthew laughs.

"Our parents are here," Darim says wistfully.

Marcello watches a whole host of emotions ripple across the faces of his visitors, everything from excitement to nerves to dread. His own stomach flips, but he manages to smile anyway. Sure, he's a little nervous about seeing his dad after the phone call where Ezio had called him a sick bastard (he's not sure that's  _ ever  _ going to stop hurting), but… but maybe it had just been a misunderstanding. This is going to be Marcello's first time seeing his dad in person since he was a child. He has to believe it'll be good.

"Come on," Elena says at last. "We should get above ground. I have a safe house nearby, I can call dad from there so he can get word out to the rest of A-Team."

"Sounds perfect," Darim agrees. By now, they're all mostly recovered from the stress of physically traveling centuries into the future, and they manage to get outside without trouble. Jenny and Marcello are the only ones that can't climb, so Elena stays on the ground with them while the others take to the rooftops. She mostly manages to keep them away from trouble, although they get a lot of weird looks for their out of place clothes.

Marcello steals Elena's computer and starts puzzling his way through it as soon as they get inside. He lies down on the couch with the thin device open on his stomach (Elena calls a protest after him, but by her tone she  _ obviously  _ doesn't expect that to work). Darim nudges his feet away and sits down at the end of the couch—Marcello uses him as a footrest.

His focus narrows. Marcello  _ knows  _ he can be a brat sometimes. He's fully aware that he's immature and often a nuisance. But this is the stuff that calms him down,  _ knowledge _ , learning stuff. It's his mother's fault, really, as Marcello is fond of telling people. She'd started him reading,  _ really  _ reading, in the months after his father died. Marcello had been acting out, unhappy and scared and totally unable to deal with his grief. She'd given him something else to focus on.

"Darim," he says, after what feels like about five minutes but the computer says is several hours. "You won't believe the stuff they've figured out by this time. There's sciences here we don't even have  _ names  _ for in our times. Like, I think if I told Flavia about any of this, she'd tell me it was magic. I don't even know where to start. I mean—" he sort of gestures at the dozen articles he has open online. "I already started, obviously, but I keep jumping around, like every time I start reading about something interesting, I find references to something I don't know about. So I start looking at that and then I get sucked in and…  _ argh. _ "

Marcello lets out a dramatic, long suffering sigh and kicks at his boyfriend. "Are you ignoring me? You usually interrupt when I start ranting."

"He's been asleep for about an hour."

Marcello jumps sideways with a yelp, falling off the couch (he holds the computer protectively away from his body to keep it from falling) and sends Darim crashing to the floor with him.

"Cello," Darim mutters, rubbing at his head. Irritation creeps into his voice—he doesn't use  _ that  _ nickname unless Marcello's really annoying him. "What are you  _ doing _ ?"

"Um…" He looks up instead of at Darim, and he feels like he's shrinking back into a child at the sight of the man that had spoken a moment ago. His chest feels cold and his face feels hot, and he doesn't say but mouths the word  _ dad _ .

It's funny. Almost.  _ Almost  _ funny, because Marcello doesn't actually want to laugh, he's too terrified of the idea that what his dad had said earlier hadn't been a mistake. What if his dad really does hate him? He sits up, slowly, and has just started inching in Darim's general direction when his dad pulls him into a hug. There's some hesitation there, but genuine care as well.

"I'm so sorry," his dad says. "Marcello, I'm  _ so  _ sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't think it was you. I thought it was… just someone that had gotten your name from somewhere, and was trying to upset me. I never would have said what I did if I thought…"

He trails off, and Marcello is struck by the sudden, ice cold shock of knowing that his dad is right here, and doesn't hate him. He hugs his dad back, and nods because he can't manage words right now. "Do I get to stay here?" he asks. "With you?"

"One year," his dad says. "We're pretty sure you'll all be here for one year."

"Oh," Marcello says. "That's not very long at all." Because he can already think of half a million things he wants to see or do or  _ learn  _ while he's here in the future. A year doesn't seem like enough time for all that. It doesn't seem like enough time to physically be with his dad, or his friends. Or with Darim.

Well, he'll just have to make every day count.


	3. Chapter 3

Jenny disappears upstairs when most of A-Team starts arriving. She's struggling with this, really struggling. Here she is, with the only seven people in the world she trusts at all, and she's  _ this  _ close to falling to pieces. It has been so long since she was free that she doesn't know what to do with herself.

Elena comes to find her, and gently leads her to a dark, quiet room that's smaller than the other ones Jenny has seen in this century. "I'm sorry," Elena says, when they're alone.

"For what?" Jenny asks.

Elena shrugs, and doesn't answer. Part of Jenny wants to believe the best of her visitor, but—Elena isn't just  _ sorry _ . She pities Jenny. And Jenny hates being pitied. "Can you just… can you leave me alone?" Jenny asks quietly. She sits down, leaning against the wall, and tries not to shake. Elena looks like she wants to argue, but she doesn't. Good, because Jenny doesn't think she has any arguments at all left in her.

Elena shuts the door behind her when she leaves, and Jenny slowly brings herself to calm. In here, in this dark, quiet place,  _ alone _ , she finally feels calm. When she'd been taken, years ago, these were the things that terrified her the most. Now they are her only comfort.

Is this what they've done to her? Taken her prisoner so completely and effectively that Jenny has become her own jailor? Even if… if something happens. If she's rescued, or finds her own way out, is this going to be the rest of her life? Darkness. Silence. Solitude.

"I'm, um… I'm sorry."

Jenny looks up. She hadn't heard Haytham come in but here he is. He's older than she is now. Too old, the same way that she has been made too old from all the things she has seen. Jenny nods, just a fraction. She hadn't been able to bear hearing Elena say  _ I'm sorry _ , but it's different with Haytham. Coming from him, the words sound like a true apology. He's thinking of the same night she is. The day their father had died, the day Haytham had taken his first, stumbling steps down the path he would follow for the rest of his life, and the day Jenny had lost everything.

_ I'm sorry I couldn't save you _ .

But she doesn't blame him. Not really, apart from a brief, terrible time just after the abduction when she'd blamed everyone, just to have someone to blame. Jenny still isn't sure her visitors have entirely forgiven her for that. She knows she's been distant from them, and that they in turn have been distant as well. Conversations with her don't come as easily as conversations between the rest of them.

It's probably her fault. Talking to them, talking to anyone really, it's like trying to decipher a code everyone else has been given the key to already. Jenny feels like she never knows what to say or when, she's always just barely missing the point, she…

She's not one of them.

"Jenny?"

Before they took her, she'd been a part of them. She'd been extremely close to her visitors; she'd always imagined that she could get through anything as long as they were with her. But ever since she was taken, Jenny has found herself pulling away, she's felt her words drying up, she's watched herself stumble and stutter at every chance she has to interact with her visitors. That has to be her fault—Elena had grown up a hostage, and she'd been happy every time Jenny had ever visited or been visited by her during those years. There's something wrong with her, there  _ has  _ to be. And maybe if she gets away, someday, maybe then she'll be able to get over all this. She'll figure it out, she'll be able to open her mouth without feeling like she's doing everything wrong.

Jenny can't really make herself believe that, though.

"Jenny!"

She comes back to herself with a snap, and sees Haytham kneeling in front of her. In this position, he has to tilt his head up to look her in the eye, and as she looks down at him she's struck by the similarity between him now and him as she had known him. He's so concerned about her. It helps.

Jenny makes a little noise and moves a little closer to the corner so Haytham can sit next to her. "Sorry," she says. "Sorry, I—I'm having trouble keeping my head here."

"Don't apologize," he says. "It's not like you're doing anything wrong."

"I'm not doing anything at all," Jenny says. "I'm stuck." She looks in his direction, but focuses on his knee instead of his face. "I can't move forward while I'm being held captive, and even now I know I'll be going back after this year's over. None of this counts."

Haytham shakes his head. "It could," he says. "Jenny, you've been put in an awful position, and I'm sorry for that. But you're not a prisoner here. You're surrounded by people that care about you. This year can be a good thing, if you want it to be."

"I just don't think I'm ready for everyone all at once."

"How about just me, then?" Haytham asks. "Do you want to get out of the house for a while? We can go somewhere quieter."

"Where?"

He grins at her. "There's a bakery nearby," he says. "They make very good chocolate cake."

"You haven't changed," Jenny says, and feels an unfamiliar smile cross her face. "I remember you always did like chocolate."

"I've changed in other ways," Haytham says softly. But then he tugs her hair gently and smiles at her, and Jenny finds herself absurdly grateful for the similarity to the little brother she remembers. He seems happy. Happier than she had expected, from what she knows of his life. "Come on," Haytham says. "See if you can find some clothes from this century you can borrow. I'll wait in the hall."

"Thank you."

-//-

Haytham allows himself an unguarded moment of unhappiness when he's away from Jenny. She's right. This is nothing but a brief escape for her, and she will be back in her prison soon enough. He can't even tell her that he'll rescue her one day, he doesn't know if she knows that yet. So what is he supposed to tell her to help her feel better? This should be their father's job, but Haytham knows Edward can't talk with Jenny and Jacob at the same time.

He'd jumped in to talk with Jenny so their father won't have to choose which one is more important. Besides, it's not like he has a child here. He has Connor and Desmond and Grace, and he is lucky to have all three of them in his life, in this time. He can see them any time he wants, and so he has the time now to help his long lost half-sister.

Technically speaking, Jacob is his half-sister as well. But Jenny needs him more—he can introduce himself to Jacob later, if she seems inclined to pursue such a relationship.

He's still thinking about Jenny and Jacob when he hears footsteps on the stairs, and then suddenly Rory appears on the landing. For a second they stare at one another. Haytham can hear the blood pounding in his ears, and he knows his face must be horribly red. Rory opens his mouth, and then closes it again. Haytham has a horrible thought— _ he  _ knows, of course, that Rory was most likely conceived during the one night in Haytham’s first life when he slept with Shay and Aveline.

But he can't possibly  _ know _ , can he? Shay and Aveline are relatively open about their private lives, but they can't have actually told Rory that he wouldn't exist without a strange night with a third man, who just happened to be a templar and a time traveler and—

Rory makes a strangled noise, and all of the blood drains from his face. He very quickly backs down the stairs, without even bothering to turn around. Haytham is inclined to let it go at that, except that he doesn't think he'll be able to take a year of awkwardly dancing around the boy. He likes to think he's learned from what happened with Connor. Not that Rory is his son, of course. But.

Should he be talking to Shay or Aveline about this? They must have been thinking of him when Rory was born, his middle name is  _ Haytham  _ after all. But that doesn't mean Haytham has any right to talk to him. And he knows Rory is particularly against anything related to templars. But…

"Jenny!" he calls.

"What?"

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

He hurries downstairs, and finds Rory in the middle of what has always seemed his favorite pastime—arguing with his sister.

"You should at least talk to—"

"No!"

"Rory, you're not being reasonable."

"Reasonable?" Rory demands. " _ Reasonable _ ? How is any of this reasonable?"

"It's a little bit unusual," Jeanne admits.

"How would you feel if there was some assassin involved in your conception?" Rory demands. Haytham winces—apparently he  _ does  _ know, somehow. "How would you feel if—if you had  _ Altair  _ to thank for the fact that you even exist?"

"Um…" Jeanne grins at him. "It's Altair. I don't think that actually has a chance of happening, do you?"

Rory grunts and turns away, and Haytham beats a hasty retreat back upstairs. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Absolutely not. He'd tried, but there's no way he can have this conversation. Maybe if Rory calms down a little (does Rory  _ ever  _ calm down? Haytham can't recall ever seeing him not arguing with his father or his sister). Maybe not.

This isn't fair. He never would have agreed to that night if he'd known he was going to have to keep living afterwards. Certainly not if he'd known a child was about to be conceived.

Jenny is waiting in the hall when Haytham comes back upstairs, and he is struck breathless by the sight of her no longer wearing the dirty, too-large clothes she'd arrived in. Her borrowed modern clothing isn't anything special, but somehow they emphasize the hollowness of her face, and the dirty, tangled mess of her hair.

She obviously notices his look, because she smiles thinly. "This is me," she says. "I hope you weren't expecting anything better."

"I'm perfectly satisfied with you the way you are," Haytham says stiffly.

"Well, that makes one of us," Jenny says. "Are we leaving?"

He nods and gestures at her to follow. They make it out of the safe house, ducking past both groups of visitors without being noticed (most of them are asleep or watching Rory and Jeanne argue). A couple blocks away, Jenny says, "Can I ask you a question?"

"If I can ask you one as well."

"You first."

He nods and clears his throat. "How do I… speak to Rory? Without him getting angry?"

Jenny gives a little snorting laugh. "Convert to the assassins?" she suggests. "I don't know. He's Rory."

This seems to be an entire explanation as far as she's concerned, so Haytham nods and lets the subject drop. "Your turn," he says instead.

Jenny nods, but doesn't ask her question right away. "Did you…" her voice breaks a little, and Haytham is almost sure she's crying. "Did you look for me?"

He wants so badly to tell her that he had, eventually, found her. But Jenny wouldn't be asking if she had already known there was an end to her suffering somewhere in the future. "I looked," he says, and that's  _ all  _ he says.

"Thank you," Jenny says, but Haytham thinks she means  _ why didn't you look harder _ ?

He takes her hand and squeezes gently. Whatever's left of the little boy he used to be is breaking at the sight of his big sister so dead eyed and quiet. "Chocolate?" he prompts her, because he really can't think of anything else that might help.

She sighs. "Well, it certainly won't hurt."


	4. Chapter 4

Jacob isn't expecting it when someone grabs her around the middle and squeezes tight. "Jacob!" they shout in her ear, and Jacob almost hits them before Jeanne hisses  _ It's your dad!  _ at her. Jacob forces herself to relax. This is her dad? Hugging her? Or—possibly trying to restrain her. It's kind of hard to tell the difference.

"Dad?" she asks, tentatively.

"I'm so glad you're here," Edward says. "I wish we could have met before now. I wish—"

With some effort, Jacob manages to turn around without pushing him away. "Am I okay?" she asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Am I okay?" Jacob asks again. "Are you disappointed?"

"Why would I be disappointed?" Edward asks. He sounds like he has no idea what she's talking about, which makes Jacob feel warm inside. But… he's Edward, so she needs to make absolutely sure he's not just confused. She needs to be one hundred percent sure that they're both on the same page, and that he really isn't disappointed.

"I'm not a good daughter," Jacob says. "I'm not a good woman. I've worn trousers and bindings for so long that I don't know how to do anything else. I'm not pretty. I fight and I curse like a sailor. I've never had much time for manners. I know that's not what you wanted for a daughter. I know you… you made sure Jenny didn't learn to fight or anything like that, even though you taught Haytham as soon as he could walk."

"I should have taught Jenny," Edward blurts. "I didn't because I thought… I thought that if I could keep her away from this fight, then somehow it would never find her. It was stupid. I should have known she'd be drawn into this eventually, and that when that day came she would need to defend herself. Instead, she had nothing. Just a ten year old little brother and a dead father. I'm glad that you never had to be in that position. If I couldn't protect you, it's good to know you could protect yourself."

Jacob opens her mouth and then immediately closes it again. She can see two different paths this conversation can take. In one, she points out to Edward that he  _ should  _ have been there to protect her, and that she had waited her entire childhood for her father to come riding in to rescue her, and he never had. In the other, she tells her father that she's just glad to see him, that yes, she's waited forever but he's finally here.

"I'm so happy I get to finally meet you," Jacob says, and Edward hugs her again. Of course he does. "I always wanted to meet you, and I'm… I'm  _ so  _ happy I finally can."


	5. Chapter 5

Neither can meet the other's eyes; Haytham stares fixedly at a picture on the wall and Rory is apparently fascinated by the gutter on the building next door, which he can see through the tiny window.   
  
"So..." Haytham begins.   
  
"Yeah," Rory answers.   
  
Haytham clears his throat. "We, ah, we both know something we'd rather you didn't know."   
  
"You can say that again," Rory says fervently.   
  
"None of this was my intention--" Haytham begins.   
  
Rory can't help himself. "Well, none of this would have happened if you hadn't been so eager to bed my parents!"   
  
Haytham sputters. "You think I--I--I  _ wanted _ to?"   
  
"You  _ did _ , didn't you?"   
  
"They, they  _ persuaded _ me, you see--are you honestly thinking that the big evil Templar threw himself at your mother? Because I can assure you that never happened. Er, back then, anyway."   
  
Rory doesn't even want to be having this conversation, much less thinking about what Haytham is saying. "Are you saying my mother is some sort of a--" He can't finish the sentence.   
  
"Far from it," and the expression on Haytham's face softens. "Your mother is a singular sort of woman, and..." Haytham clears his throat. "But enough of that, Rory, you don't want to hear about my opinion of your mother. You already know what an amazing woman she is."   
  
Rory looks at Haytham sidelong. "You sound like you're half in  _ love  _ with her."   
  
"More than half, but that’s immaterial," Haytham insists.   
  
"I think it's very material," Rory objects. "You...you’ve been  _ with _ her, and--"   
  
"And she's your mother and her--well, anything about us together--does not concern you. Should not concern you. That includes my feelings about your parents."   
  
"Both of them?" Rory asks warily. He knows Haytham and Shay are together, and Elena has hinted to him what they get up to. (Presumably the same sorts of things Rory and Darim used to fumble around at, the sorts of things Rory dreams about.) And they're both Templars, of course, so that part makes perfect sense to him, even if it makes him feel a little like throwing up to think of  _ two Templars together. _   
  
"Yes, both of them!" Haytham says gruffly, and clears his throat. "My feelings about Shay and Aveline are not the issue at hand, are they?"   
  
"Of course they are! Otherwise you wouldn't have pursued them, wouldn't..."   
  
Haytham laughs once. "I promise you, I was the one pursued." He clears his throat and looks away.   
  
"Why on Earth--they love each other!"   
  
"Yes," Haytham agrees. "Perhaps this was initially just something they wanted to try. Or perhaps they're simply very fond of me. That one night was supposed to be the end of it, except two events occurred."   
  
"What two events?" Rory almost doesn't want to know.   
  
"I...came back. And you came to be." Rory realizes belatedly that Haytham is as uncomfortable as he is. It shows in the clenching and unclenching of Haytham's hand, the way he rocks back and forth on his feet. "And I don't know how you came to know about that night--"   
  
"Elena," Rory tells him, voice hollow. "She visited me at that moment and, ah, heard my parents. Um, mentioning your name." He flushes deep red.   
  
Haytham makes an annoyed noise. "I had thought I gave her a plausible lie when she mentioned it to me."   
  
"You  _ knew _ ?"   
  
"Not at the time, of course. But when she told me--she was a child when she saw, and of course I did what any man would do if his granddaughter caught him in a compromising position. I lied. I had hoped she would never realize what she had seen, and failing that, that she would never mention it to you."   
  
"Why, so you could hide things from me, just like--"   
  
"No, because we are having precisely this uncomfortable conversation about an embarrassing aspect of both our lives!" He crosses his arms and glowers back at Rory as if daring him to reply.   
  
"If you're so embarrassed about it, why do you keep doing it? And why do you always ask after me?"   
  
"How did you know?"   
  
Rory mutters, "Elena told me."   
  
"Well..." Haytham begins. "I suppose I do feel responsible for your existence."   
  
"You  _ are _ ," Rory whines, then adds petulantly, "not that I need a  _ Templar _ looking out for me."   
  
"It's quite all right if you reject me," Haytham assures him. "Connor used to all the time. There’s no need for you to care that I’m watching out for you."   
  
"Well, I don't!"   
  
"But I do care, I watch over you, I feel responsible for you, and I want you to be happy, even if you're the least reasonable Assassin I've ever known, including my own son."   
  
"I'm not unreasonable. I just don't like Templars."   
  
"I don't care if you like me or not. I only care about your welfare."   
  
"Well, I don't need you to," Rory insists again, angrily.   
  
"Rory," Haytham says tiredly. "I lived to be fifty-five. And I've had another thirty years since coming back. I've learned that when people care about you, truly care about you, the stupidest thing you can do is reject that caring. It's your choice whether to be as big of a fool as I was for so long."   
  
"A fool?" Rory's interest is piqued despite his best efforts.   
  
"Yes, Rory, I was an utter fool," Haytham tells him wearily. "And when I stopped being so foolish, it was right before my death. And even after I came back, I couldn’t admit for the longest time that I cared for your parents. It took me literally  _ running away from everything I hold dear _ for me to come to my senses."   
  
Rory thinks, then speaks slowly, as if trying to work something out. "If I accept your caring, if I let you in, I'd be doing what a Templar wants. And I don't want to...I  _ can’t _ do that."   
  
Haytham sighs heavily. "I thought you might make that choice. Very well, then, I offer a truce. I will make every effort to conceal from you that I care, and you will treat your father as your father, not as an enemy."   
  
"Some truce," Rory scoffs.   
  
"And neither of us will speak of that night to each other."   
  
"I'll still  _ know _ .”

“Then allow me, just this once, to give you some advice,” Haytham tells him, voice laden with sarcasm. 

“Yeah? What kind of advice?” Rory challenges him.

“ _ Pretend _ you don't know. If you pretend enough, you'll  _ almost _ succeed. It worked for some years for me. Of course, your sister Grace is proof that my pretense eventually failed.” Haytham inclines his head and leaves while Rory is still trying to decide if this is superb advice or a Templar trick.


	6. Chapter 6

"We should go somewhere," Ezio tells Marcello late that night. It's been a bit chaotic all day, with the rest of A-Team gradually arriving at the safe house. Apart from Desmond, who gets to see Elena all the time, every single one of them looks over the moon to be reunited with their children. And—well, Edward had looked mildly terrified at the prospect of seeing Jenny again, and meeting Jacob face to face for the first time. But Ezio is fairly sure he'll be able to push through this. He's Edward. He doesn't really fall apart.

This is the first time Ezio has been able to speak to Marcello alone.

"Go where?" Marcello asks. He's lying sideways on the same couch he'd been on when Ezio walked in, but instead of staring intently at a laptop, he's curled up under a blanket, eyes drooping closed. Ezio hesitates, then moves to sit on the couch next to his son. Marcello half pulls the blanket up over his face, but it's not enough to hide his smile as Ezio puts his hand on his shoulder.

"Anywhere you want," Ezio says. "We can see anything, do anything… I don't want to have any regrets when this is over. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wishing I'd done more with you while you were here."

"Dunno what's here," Marcello says. "I only know what I see when I visit Elena."

"There's a lot of stuff here," Ezio says. He tries to think of the kind of thing that might impress Marcello, but he has no idea what his son would like to see.

"Can I get a phone?" Marcello asks.

"Who do you need to call?" Ezio asks, startled.

Marcello's grin gets a little more mischievous. "Well, Elena," he says. "I could bother her a lot if I had a phone. I already filled up  _ her  _ phone with like… a hundred pictures of me making stupid faces. She hasn't noticed yet, but she's gonna. I can definitely annoy her more if I have a phone of my own. And there's the internet on there. I need my own internet, so I can keep looking stuff up. I'm  _ never  _ going to have time to get all my answers if I don't have an internet."

Ezio laughs. "You're so like your mother," he says.

Marcello is still smiling. "She always says I'm like you," he says. "Nothing but trouble."

He yawns, and Ezio pats him again before getting up and leaving him to sleep. He's just on his way upstairs when he passes Altair and Darim coming down. Darim looks just as exhausted as Marcello, but Ezio is still surprised when Darim goes right up to the couch where Marcello is dozing off and nestles himself in next to the other man. Ezio stares for a second, then turns and looks at Altair.

Then he laughs, because he has never seen Altair quite so lost for words.

"Hey," Ezio mutters, nudging Altair. "Are our sons…?"

"You always hog the blankets," Darim complains sleepily.

"Do not," Marcello mumbles. But he flops over so he's lying on his other side, facing Darim, and inches closer so they can share the blanket. They're pressed so close together that there's really no logical reason to deny that they've done this before (and  _ often _ ), but for some reason Ezio is still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the idea of this relationship.

Then Darim leans over and kisses Marcello's forehead. Marcello returns the gesture with a smile that Ezio doesn't have the words to describe, and a kiss to Darim's nose. They're half stirring, waking up and very  _ clearly  _ intending to do more than kiss, when Elena walks past and gives Marcello a gentle whack on the back of the head. "Hey," she says, sternly but not unkindly. "Not on my couch."

"Elena…" Marcello complains, but the boys settle down quickly and in no time at all they're asleep.

"Elena," Altair calls as she heads past. His voice is choked with surprise.

"Yep?"

"Are Darim and Marcello...?"

"What?" she glances back at the couch, then at Altair and Ezio. "What about them?"

"You know," Altair says. He coughs uncomfortably.

"Dating," Ezio says helpfully.

"Well…" she considers this. "It's hard to  _ date  _ on a visit, but they're definitely sleeping together. And they definitely love one another, and I guess now that they're in the same place there will almost definitely be dates in the future. So I guess the answer to that is technically yes?"

"Ha!" Ezio says. He claps Altair on the shoulder. "We're practically in-laws!"

"What."

Elena smiles a little. "Haven't I ever mentioned?"

"No," Altair says firmly.

"Oh. Well—" her smile gets bigger. "Now you know."

She heads off somewhere else, and Ezio settles in to watch Altair work through an almost insulting amount of shock at finding out who his oldest son is sleeping with. And then he realizes that Marcello,  _ his baby _ , the little boy that had still been pulling his sister's hair when Ezio died, is suddenly old enough to have a serious, committed boyfriend.

He makes a strangled noise, and glances sideways at Altair. Altair looks back at him in complete understanding.


	7. Chapter 7

Connor catches Matthew's elbow and, when he turns back, hugs him awkwardly. They've never hugged very much, but Connor hasn't seen his son in the flesh in decades, not since his own death.

"I would talk to you," he says quietly, "about a very important matter in the future."

Matthew looks at his father quizzically. Whatever the matter is, it's turned Connor's face darker with what looks like a self-conscious blush. "Of course," he says, and follows when Connor leads him upstairs to a small bedroom. There's a computer on a desk, a neatly made bed, and a variety of beaded belts on the wall. Matthew recognizes the flag of the Haudenosaunee, the Six Nations that include the Kanien'kehá:ka, as one of the designs, in impossibly bright purple and white beads.

"Matthew?" comes Connor's hesitant voice.

"Are your people still around, Dad?" Matthew asks, lightly brushing his fingertips over the beads.

"We are," Connor says with a quiet smile. "We are known as builders and steelworkers these days."

"I had thought..." Matthew says slowly. "I had thought they might be all gone, in wars with the white people, by now. Or that they had intermarried and been wiped out that way."

Connor shakes his head. "Those were my thoughts at first, as well. But it is not so; we have made a crushing peace in defeat, we have had all our treaties broken, and yet we continue. Many of my people are paler still than you, and yet they are still my people, living by our customs and speaking our language. We are still here." He fishes in his wallet and pulls out a laminated plastic card, which he hands to his son. "I am the only person in this safehouse to have legal identification in my true name," he says proudly. "And that is because I finally can."

Matthew examines the card--it's very shiny, much like the driver's license Elena showed him once, and identifies his father as Mohawk--and runs his fingers over his father's name. "Ratonhnhaké:ton. Is that how it's spelled?"

Connor nods. "That is how they spell it these days. It is a marvelous time to live in, sometimes." He points at Matthew. "There is something I must tell you, about this time. About...being with Elena in this time." The tips of his ears turn bright red as his quiet voice becomes uncertain. "As your father, it is my duty to have this discussion with you."

Matthew flushes uncomfortably. "I already know, Dad."

Connor shakes his head. "No, you do not. I looked it up and they did not have these until after your death. Possibly."

Matthew looks skeptically at his father. "Didn't have what?"

Connor blushes more, and takes something out of his bedside table. It's a small foil packet printed with a date nearly thirty years past. "It is called a condom." He hands the packet to Matthew, who stares blankly at it.

He thinks he's heard of condoms, some mention from Elena that she was glad they didn't need one because of visiting. "What is it for?"

Connor makes a small uncertain movement with his hands. "Sex."

Matthew stares. "How?"

Connor fumbles with the wrapper, extracting what seems to be a small rubber disk with a rolled rim. "You...use it to prevent diseases and pregnancy. Desmond told us all about them after Grandfather had to go to that clinic in our first year in the future."

Matthew eyes his father. "Yes, but... _how_ do you use it?"

Connor is getting flustered. "You...wear it. On your..." Connor gestures vaguely.

"On my..." Matthew begins, confused, then Connor points in the general direction of his crotch. "Oh! ...there." He stares at the rubber disk. "How?"

Connor stares at it, too. "I do not remember," he admits. He plucks at the indentation in the center of the disk. "This is for your, ah...." He turns a deeper red.

"For my what?" Matthew asks dubiously.

"Ah...you know, at the end...this...holds things," Connor whispers. "So Elena won't end up pregnant."

"Oh! That stuff." Matthew shuffles his feet and looks through the open doorway for rescue. Miraculously, it appears.

"Is everything all right in here?" Aveline asks. She looks at the condom in Connor's hand and quirks a smile. "Did you need help with this?"

"Yes, please," Connor mumbles in mingled embarrassment and relief.

Aveline nods. "Hold on. Let me get something." She ducks into her, Shay, and Haytham's room at the end of the hallway, and returns with a long, thin object in hand. Connor stares at it, then averts his eyes. It's...disturbingly realistic.

Matthew sizes it up. "What is _that_ used for?"

Aveline looks from Connor to Matthew, smiling mirthfully. "You two _really_ don't want to know," she says cheerfully. "But right now, I'm using it for educational purposes."

"We were wondering," Matthew says hesitantly, " _how_ you, um, wear this."

Aveline nods briskly. "All right. First, you make sure that you're ready." Her...educational model...evidently has a suction cup on the back end, for what reason Connor doesn't even _want_ to imagine, and she suctions it to his desk with practiced ease. It sits there, pointing straight up, and Aveline gestures to it. "So, wait until you're pretty hard, but before you go anywhere near her. Then you put the condom on the end, here..." She applies the rubber disk to...the head of the...thing, and pinches the indentation. "You pinch the tip with one hand. Don't cut it with your fingernails. Then you roll it down, like so." She unrolls the condom down the shaft with quick movements of her free hand. "Again, without fingernails."

Matthew begins to laugh. "It looks like a woman's stocking!"

Connor can't stop staring and thinking uncomfortably that Aveline's probably done this exact thing many times to Haytham.

"It is sort of like a sock," Aveline allows, "only instead of going on your foot, it goes on your penis."

Connor is dying. Does his father really do this every time he's with Aveline?

Matthew can't stop laughing. "How does it feel?" he asks between guffaws. "Making love with a _stocking_ in the way?"

"It's not as close," Aveline admits. "But you could get condoms with different textures. Shay likes the ribbed condoms when H--well, sometimes," she amends, flicking her eyes guiltily to Connor, who looks ready to die of an apoplexy of shame and discomfort. "But there's other methods of birth control," she continues, "pills and such that a woman can use. And one pill for men, but you have to be on it for several weeks before it works." She hands Matthew a box of condoms. "You can use these while you decide what you'd like to use. If you get a rash, though, let me know and we'll get you some made out of a different material."

"A rash?" Matthew asks, alarmed. "You can get a _rash_? There? From these?" He laughs nervously.

"It's possible, but rare," Aveline admits. "Do you have any more questions?"

Matthew eyes the box of condoms warily, then shrugs. "If I do, I'll come to _you_ , not my poor father."

"Thank you," Connor breathes.

Aveline smiles and un-suctions her...teaching aid...from Connor's desk. "You and Elena have fun. I can't imagine what it would be like to have a lover with me for only a year. Make the most of it."


	8. Chapter 8

Edward sighs and sits down across from Jenny. "You should get it over with," he says in an unusually soft voice. "In fact, please do."

"Get what over with?" Jenny asks warily.

"Telling me off," Edward says bluntly. "I've made all the wrong choices as your father, and--I can see your suffering in your eyes, you know. I've ruined all three of my children's lives, I've let you all down, and I'm so sorry. So, so sorry that I don't even know how to tell you--"

"Stop already!" Jenny snaps. "It's not about you."

"But it _is_ my fault," Edward objects. "I didn't teach you to fight, to defend yourself. I gave Birch access to our home and family. And then I died, having made you dependent on unworthy me for your safety."

Jenny throws her hands up in the air. "With you already saying all of that, what is there left for me to yell? Honestly, Father, you could try leaving me something to shout."

Edward smiles. "There's my girl." But his voice sounds brittle, like it's about to shatter.

Jenny eyes him carefully, then adds coldly, "And it's not like your apologies change my life. At the end of this year, I'll be back there, and nothing will have changed for me." Tears gather at the corners of her eyes and she swipes angrily at them. "Only I won't be used to it anymore, and it'll hurt like when it was fresh and horrid, father, I almost wish I'd never come to this time! You got to stay, Haytham gets to stay, why can't I?"

Edward says nothing, just takes her hands in his and holds them tightly. Her tears spill down her face until she erupts in furious sobs, and he doesn't try to stop her crying. But when she yanks her hands away to tear at her hair and scratch her arms, digging in her ragged fingernails, he does grab them again and clasps them together. "It'll end, Jenny, I promise you'll get through it."

"How do you know?" she half-howls. "Maybe it _never_ ends!"

"Haytham and Connor told me. They knew you as a free woman. I promise, you'll be home safe one day."

She glares at him, but her tears dry slowly, and when she speaks, it's in the small voice she's had since she was captured. "Is any woman truly free in my time, Father?"

He smiles wryly. "From what I've heard, you more than most."

"What will I do then?" she demands. "Marry? No man would take me. And if one did, it would just be another form of slavery."

Edward sighs. "You don't have to marry. I promise, you will find life infinitely better when you have your freedom."

"And _when_ is that, father?" she demands.

He shakes his head. "You know I can't tell you."

She scowls. "It would be something to look forward to." But he just shrugs helplessly, and she gives up. After a few more awkward minutes, he leaves her to her sullen thoughts.

Perhaps an hour later, a big dark-skinned man she barely knows through Elena comes in and sits across from her.

"1757," he says, without preamble.

"I beg your pardon?" she asks.

Adéwalé, she thinks his name is, repeats, "1757. That is the year of your freedom."

She blinks, stunned. "Th--thank you. Aren't you supposed not to give out spoilers? Isn't that something only my father does?"

"None of _them_ has ever been enslaved for more than a day. I thought about what I would most have wanted, and I think you deserve to know when your captivity will end." Adéwalé nods to emphasize his words.

"Well, thank you." Jenny stumbles over the now-unfamiliar words. "That's ten years still."

"But you know your suffering has an end, now."

Tears spring to her eyes, and she tries a small smile. It feels foreign to her face. "Thank you," she repeats.


	9. Chapter 9

Grace is in Las Vegas, which is not her favorite place in the world, but her job is to talk people into doing what she—what the Templars want—and Vegas is the kind of place that makes people agree to things they wouldn't normally, like betting their life savings on impossible odds, or marrying that stranger they've only known for thirty six hours.  
  
This weekend's mission is convincing a senator to sign a particular set of bills the Templars would very much like to have pushed through into law. Grace is confident that after a weekend in Vegas with her, not only will this particular senator support the bill, she'll also do everything she can to get her coworkers on her side.  
  
They're sitting at a fairly crowded poker table at the moment, talking about anything but the bill they both know they're here to discuss. Grace keeps ordering the senator more to drink—the woman hasn't noticed yet that Grace is still nursing her first. She plans on keeping her mind sharp this weekend.  
  
The senator is a little pink in the face, maybe from the alcohol and maybe from the thrill of winning several rounds in a row. She catches the dealer's eye and signals him to let the senator win one more hand. He half nods back, without dropping his grin or his cheerful patter of conversation. Grace hides her grin behind a hand—most of the dealers in this casino are quiet and polite, almost distant, but this one has the five other women at the table so thoroughly charmed that none of them has complained.  
  
Grace, of course, is not charmed, because she still remembers when the sharply dressed eighteen year old in front of her was a sticky toddler bragging about how many bugs he could eat in one sitting. Doing good, she mouths at James, and his grin gets a little wider.  
  
When he deals the next hand of cards, Grace finds a little post it note with a dancing dinosaur stuck to one of hers. She rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything. This is his first real mission as a templar in training (Grace is here to keep an eye on him as much as to work on the senator), and he's doing well enough to show off a little if he wants to. He'd lied his way onto the staff, despite technically being too young, and the senator Grace is here to persuade keeps laughing at his jokes. Tonight is all about getting her in the best possible mood before moving onto the politics in the morning, and James is absolutely contributing to the cause. She's looking forward to being able to give him a good report when the mission's over.  
  
And that's when her phone rings. Grace half pulls it out of her bag, and she's almost ready to hit ignore—it's Dad, and she hates ignoring him, but he'll understand the mission has to come first—when she realizes James's phone is ringing too. From where she's sitting, Grace can just barely see that his caller ID says Mom. So (her stomach flips) family emergency?  
  
"I'll be right back," she calls, over the noise of the music and a thousand other conversations. The senator nods, and Grace slips away to find somewhere quiet to answer her phone. It takes a while, and Dad calls twice more before Grace is finally able to answer.  
  
"Grace," he says, and he sounds relieved.  
  
"I'm here," she says. "Are you alright?"  
  
"I'm fine," he assures her. "But—"  
  
"Is everyone else okay?" Grace asks. "Only I saw Evie's calling James, so I figured that something must have gone wrong."  
  
"Not at all," Dad says. "But both of you need to come home."  
  
"Now?" Grace frowns. "Dad, I've been planning this mission for ages, you can't pull us out now!"  
  
"It's important."

"So is this!"  
  
"Elena's visitors are here."  
  
"What?" This is so far down the list of things Grace had expected to hear that she doesn't even know how to react for a second. "B-Team?"  
  
"It was a Piece of Eden," Dad explains. "And it's a bit of a long story, but they're going to be here for a year."  
  
A year. Grace lets that filter through for a second, trying to grasp the implications of it. Then she says, "So I get to meet my other siblings? Or… two of them, anyway?" She's lucky that she had Geraldine and Desmond and Connor growing up. But she's heard so many stories about her other brothers and sister, the ones that lived during her parents' first lifetime, and she'd never once thought she'd get to meet them in person. Then she frowns. "Is Rory going to hate me? Elena says he doesn't like Templars."  
  
Dad takes a deep breath, which ends in the kind of noncommittal noise that Grace thinks probably means yes. "He's having a difficult time adjusting," he says. "But… well, anyway. We're all heading to that big safehouse in Indiana."  
  
"The one with the ridiculous number of bedrooms," Grace says. "I know the one." Which is sensible—with Elena's seven visitors, there's going to be more than two dozen of them. She sighs, thinking about all the planning that's gone into this weekend, but the disappointment passes quickly. She can always come up with another plan to talk the senator into supporting the bill. This is important. "I'll just get James and then we'll head over."  
  
If nothing else, this is going to be interesting.


	10. Chapter 10

"James," his mother says (not for the first time). " _ Off  _ the counter."

He's sitting next to the kitchen sink, munching on an apple and watching everyone mill around the living room. "I want a good seat," he informs her. "Dad said we have to have a big meeting about what's going to happen while B-Team is here."

"You can see from somewhere other than the kitchen counter," she says, and James lets her swat him off—he half leans against it instead, and frowns.

"You and Uncle Jacob had kids in your first lives, didn't you?" he asks. " _ And  _ Adewale. Why aren't any of them here?"

"They're not visitors," she reminds him sharply, and James suddenly feels bad for asking. Obviously she misses her daughters, and it has to suck seeing everyone else's kids come back, and knowing she won't get to see hers.

James leans over and hugs her. "I love you Mom," he tells her, and she hugs him back long enough for James to figure out how upset she is. When she finally pulls away, it's to go yell at Uncle Jacob for sitting on the table. Jacob waits long enough to make sure she's not coming back before hoisting himself back up onto the counter.

Eventually, everyone is assembled and mostly quiet. People start talking about plans for the next year, but James figures out pretty quickly that none of it has anything to do with him. He tunes out and starts playing with his phone. There's a couple other templar recruits that had come in about the same time he had, and they know most of his family's weird circumstances. Their reactions, when he texts  _ hey so I have a bunch of time travelers in my living room  _ range from  _ cool, can I come see  _ to  _ so's your mom _ .

James is still trying to figure out if this last comment is supposed to be a middle school style insult or just a factual observation that his mother is, in fact, from the 1800s, when he looks up and realizes the meeting is pretty much over. The big group has broken up into a bunch of smaller ones, and James figures he's probably allowed to slip out. He's halfway out of the room when he hears one of Elena's visitors complaining about Templars.

And James  _ knows  _ he should just stay quiet and keep walking, but the thing is that he really likes being a Templar. He'd grown up feeling like nothing he did ever mattered, because he was the smallest and the youngest in his family, and they never stayed in one place long enough to make friends. But as a templar? He finally has a chance to make a difference. To really feel like the things he does have an impact. He's sick of hiding in the shadows, and it's just the best feeling ever to get out of hiding and  _ do  _ something.

So when this new guy starts in on a round of complaining about how many Templars there are in the house, Jacob's tiny little strand of self control snaps completely.

He spins around and—making sure the new guy is close enough to hear him, calls out—"Hey Grace! This jerk's talking shit about Templars!"

"James!" Grace hisses. " _ Seriously _ —"

"Yea," the new guy says, just as loud. He glares at James, who grins as big as he possibly can, just to piss him off. "Why, are you one of them?"

"Rory," Elena says, trying and failing to steer the templar hating  _ jerk  _ out of the room. "Come on, leave it for now—"

"No," Rory says loudly. "I'm sick of talking to Templars. They're scum, Elena. We're  _ assassins,  _ and Templars are supposed to be the enemy."

"You want to fight me?" James demands, taking a step toward Rory. He's itching for a fight, he's never really  _ had _ to fight an assassin (or anyone else, for that matter). But he's had training, and this guy is really, really irritating him.

"James!" someone says, but it's barely a buzzing in his ears, he can barely even hear it over the way Rory's insults circling around in his head.

"Wouldn't mind it, actually," Rory says, wrenching his arm out of Elena's grasp and taking a step toward James.

"Yea? Cuz I bet you hit like a girl—"

And the next thing he knows, it feels like the sky is just falling in on him. He blacks out for a few minutes, and when he wakes up someone has managed to get Rory out of the room, and his mom is leaning over him.

"Elena says Rory's having a hard time adjusting," she explains, when she's fetched an ice pack and moved James to the couch. "And I know he'd been arguing with his father and Haytham before you said anything."

"He still shouldn't have said all that crap," James mutters. "None of the assassins here have problems with Templars. And none of us has a problem with you guys!"

"You have to understand," she tells him. "That's what it's like, in most places and in most times. Templars and assassins at each other's throats, and no one willing to listen to reason."

James frowns, and presses his ice pack a little harder to his aching head. "That's stupid," he mutters.

His mom smiles, a tiny little smile without any good humor at all. "Then maybe you should have thought about that before you provoked an assassin into hitting you for being a Templar," she says. "Just a thought."

"But it's important to me," James argues. "And he just—he talked about the order like it was stupid, and it's  _ not _ , and I just…"

"I'm not saying he's in the right either," his mother assures him. "Just try to think before you say something next time. Alright?"

"I'll try," James says, not looking at her. “Where's Dad?”

“Here,” his dad calls from the doorway. James twists around to look at him, and sees his mom’s expression mirrored on his dad's face. Sort of a mix of worry and concern and maybe a little exasperation. “How's your head, James?”

"Fine,” James says, but that doesn't stop Dad-- _ or  _ Mom--from coming over and fussing over him, checking just to make sure he's not concussed or anything. James lets them do it, a little tingle of guilt curling around in his gut. He shouldn't have worried them. But then, Rory shouldn't have been a dick. 

James sighs, which makes his head hurt. Everything makes his head hurt. He can't stop thinking about what a long,  _ long  _ year this is going to be.


	11. Chapter 11

Grace hangs back, unsure why she's so shy. She's already been yelled at by Rory--he's nothing if not consistent--and she knows her sister Jeanne isn't going to be like him, at least. Still, there's just something...she decides that _intimidating_ is the right word for it, about Jeanne. Sure, Jeanne doesn't look any older than Grace right now, and she's busy kissing her girlfriend in an entirely indecent fashion, but...

Grace clears her throat at last. "Jeanne?"

Jeanne removes her lips from Jacob's and smiles warmly, and Grace wonders why she was being so silly and shy before. "Grace!" Jeanne says, and awkwardly hugs her youngest sister. "Have you met Jacob before?"

Grace squeezes tighter before letting go, and grins at Jacob and shakes her hand. "Grace Kenway," she says by way of introduction.

Jacob's eyes widen. "You're Haytham's daughter, then?" At Grace's nod, Jacob smiles widely. "Love," she informs Jeanne, "my lover's sister is my niece. That sounds awful and improper." Jeanne chuckles and links her fingers through Jacob's, and Grace clears her throat awkwardly.

"Let's not make my sister uncomfortable, all right?" Jeanne asks, pulling herself regretfully away from Jacob.

"It's okay," Grace says quickly. "I'll just go and let you enjoy your time together." She can recognize the look on both of their faces, because she's seen it far too many times on her parents'. They're obviously itching to tear each other's clothes off.

"No," Jacob says, "you should get to know your sister. Believe me, I understand. I want to talk to my brother. And you two probably have Templar things to talk about together." She flashes a quick smile. "Like how to avoid getting punched by your brother Rory."

"Is he always like this?" Grace asks desperately.

"No, he's actually an interesting person when there are no Templars around," Jacob assures them. "He has opinions on matters other than Templars."

"Well, that doesn't help us," Grace says, frustrated.

Jacob smiles and shrugs. "He's missing out on his sisters," she points out. "I don't intend to be as big a fool as he is, so I'm going to go talk to my brother." She kisses Jeanne once more, then leaves the room.

Jeanne smiles at Grace and fiddles with her fingernails. "I think the last time I saw you on a visit, you were a little girl chasing her fathers around the house."

Grace smiles back. "And I'd never seen you before. You look a lot like Papa, actually. With Maman's hair."

Jeanne giggles. "And you look a lot like your dad." She shakes her head. "What's it like working with him?" she asks, sounding awed.

Grace stares at her sister. "You work with Papa, you know what it's like to work with your father."

Jeanne sighs. "Yes, but, you know, Haytham Kenway is still kind of legendary in my time."

Grace shrugs. "He's my _dad_. I guess, well, he's a little harder on me than Papa is. Dad'll tell me how I could have improved, but you know, not in a mean way. Papa tells me where I got things right." She reflects a moment. "Both of them are really wonderful. And they've helped me be a better Templar, too." She looks over at Jeanne. "What's it like working with Papa in your time?"

Jeanne thinks. "Well, before he got sick, he did both, helped me improve but also told me what I did well. And he was a sort of buffer between me and the Grand Master we have. Now I have to deal with _him_ directly, and he doesn't send me on challenging missions because I'm a woman." She sighs. "I'm really worried about Papa. He's very sick in my time. It's great to see him so strong and healthy."

Grace hugs Jeanne again. "I don't know what I'd do if Papa or Dad got sick."

Jeanne squeezes Grace and gestures to the couch. "Why don't you sit down and tell me about what the Templars are doing in your time? I hear the people that kept Elena captive call themselves Templars?"

Grace makes a face. "That's Abstergo, they're not _real_ Templars. We're trying to take them down..."


	12. Chapter 12

Geraldine has a bad habit of staying late at work. She'll show up with everyone else at nine in the morning, say her hellos and good mornings and how was your weekends like everyone else does—and then she'll sit down at her desk and just lose herself in the work until oh  _ shit _ , it's half past eight at night and she's the last one in the building.

Her boss has sat her down (twice) to talk to her about it. The first time, he'd joked with her about it ("you do know you're not being paid by the hour, don't you?"), but the second time he'd been much more serious ("look, I'm worried about your health if you keep this up"). Geraldine had promised both times to do better about getting home at a reasonable hour, which technically makes her a liar. It's just that she really likes her work, and she really can't  _ stand  _ her tiny apartment. She'd never have thought it, when she was eighteen and leaving home for college, but she really misses the crowded, crazy mess of the safehouses she'd grown up in. At least at school she'd always had roommates, and the sound of people (who presumably  _ weren't  _ double majoring in physics and computer science, and therefore had actual free time) partying down the hall. It wasn't family, but it was something.

But it's too late to go back now. Geraldine is uncomfortably aware that it's been almost a decade since she left home. She'd gone back in the beginning, during school breaks, but it was… different. Or maybe she was different. Either way, she didn't feel like she really fit in anymore. Everyone else was either an assassin or a Templar (except James, until recently), and Geraldine isn't.

So she'd started going home less and less often, and she's not even sure where home  _ is  _ these days. Everyone moves around too much.

But wherever home is, it's not her apartment, and so Geraldine spends as much time as she can at work. On one such day, when she's just starting to consider heading home, before she gets too tired to drive, one of the night janitors taps her on the shoulder.

"Someone's down in the lobby," he says. "Says they're looking for you."

"Really?" Geraldine asks. She eyes the clock—just past nine. Her heartbeat speeds up a little, and she wonders if, after all this time, her mother's about to be proved right about the dangers of going off on her own.

"Well, he said he was looking for a Geraldine Cormac," the janitor says. "But I figure you're the only Geraldine we have working here, so he's probably looking for you. Anyway, you're the only one left, so he's your problem anyway."

"Yea," Geraldine mutters. "Thanks."

She logs off her computer and gathers her things together slowly, thinking as fast as she can. There's a knife in her bag but she's not very good with it. If it comes to a fight, she'll lose. The only weapon she really knows how to use is her brain, but she can't exactly think up a plan until she knows the full situation.

Nothing for it, then. She'll have to go downstairs and see the situation for herself. If something's wrong, she can come up with a plan then.

Geraldine hurries down the stairs and into the lobby, eyes darting around, looking for whoever it is that's supposed to be waiting for her. At first she sees nothing, and she tenses without meaning to. There are a lot of corners down here, a lot of places for someone to hide. Then she sees him—a man in his late thirties, fiddling with his phone. He looks up at Geraldine, and she relaxes at once.

"Sage!" she calls, hurrying toward him. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," he says. "How are you?"

"Fine," Geraldine says. "Why are you looking for me at this time of night?"

"Well, Dad called me at work this morning," Sage says. "I guess something big's going on at the safehouse, and he asked me to come."

"What's wrong?" Geraldine asks, suddenly nervous again. "Who's hurt?"

"No one," Sage is quick to assure her. "I don't think so, anyway, Dad sounded pretty happy. But then when I was already on my way there, your mom called and said she couldn't get in touch with you. It's not far out of my way to come and collect you, so she asked me to do you a favor." He shrugs, and Geraldine digs through her bag for her phone—she likes to put it on silence while she's at work, but then sometimes she forgets to check it. Has she looked at it at all today?

There are five missed calls, all with voicemails, and half a dozen urgent texts.

"Oops," Geraldine says.

"Come on," Sage says, half smiling. "I'll give you a ride, if you're ready to go home."

Geraldine hesitates. She thinks of her work, and how difficult it's going to be to step away from it for… however long it takes for all this to be sorted out. But then she thinks about how happy her boss will be to hear she's finally using some of her vacation days—and then she remembers her lonely apartment. "Yea," she says. "I'm ready."

They drive through the night. Geraldine has always liked Sage. She'd been too young to really know what was going on when he was part of the group worshipping Juno in Desmond's body, so her first memories of him are all good ones. He'd had his own problems, but all Geraldine could see was how easily he moved between the safehouse and the real world. Visiting him when he was in college had absolutely blown her mind.

They talk, and the hours fly past. Still, it's a long drive back to the current safehouse, and they'd had a late start. Geraldine takes over driving around midnight, and then they switch back around five in the morning.

It's just about dawn when they finally find the right address and pull into the driveway. It's big house—Geraldine vaguely remembers spending a few months here when she was in high school, and actually getting her own bedroom—in a quiet neighborhood. Neither of them has a key, so Geraldine rings the doorbell. She's expecting to be left waiting a while, given how early it is, but to her surprise the door opens right away.

Elena's standing there, grinning broadly. She looks exhausted but also over the moon with happiness, and she hugs first Geraldine, then Sage, before either of them can say a word. "I'm so happy you're here," she says. "My visitors are here—actually here, not just visiting—and you both have to meet them…" She goes on, chattering with excitement, then hugs them both again and tugs them inside with her.

"So wait," Geraldine interrupts. "You're saying that on top of the usual crowd of people we have living in the safehouse, you added another seven people on top of that?"

"Well, yea," Elena says. "Is that a problem?"

Geraldine's doing a quick count of the house's bedrooms, and the bathrooms; the former will be overcrowded, the latter will be a horrifying mess, and how are they supposed to cook for this many people?

"Geraldine?" Elena prompts.

"What?" she shakes her head and waves Elena's concern away. "Of course it's not a problem, I'm just thinking about the bathroom situation. Most people use whichever one is closest to wherever they're sleeping. So if we assign everyone a cleanliness factor on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the cleanest, and try to maintain an average cleanliness factor of at least seven in each bathroom, we should be able to keep them from turning into pigsties."

"Of  _ course  _ that's what you're thinking about," Elena says fondly. "Only you could turn cleaning the bathrooms into math."

"Sorry."

"Nah," Elena says. "It hasn't been the same around here since you left."

"Really?"

"Way less mathematical, anyway," Elena assures her. Geraldine smiles a little. "Come on. I'll make you two breakfast, and then you can meet everyone—Geraldine, I know Jeanne's going to be excited to meet you, and Rory will be civil since you're not a Templar. They're your siblings, did you know that? And you're going to love Marcello, I think he must be as smart as you are."

Geraldine's smile gets wider. She's forgotten how good it feels to be included in the chaos. "We'll see," she says, and lets Elena chatter on.


	13. Chapter 13

Arno has met Rory before. Back in his first life, they'd crossed paths a couple of times, and Rory had never struck Arno as the kind of horrifying anti-Templar fanatic he seems to be now.

"Stop worrying about it," Jacob complains, when Arno mentions this for the third or fourth time. "And please, can we stop talking about Rory? Bad enough he's in the room down the hall, I don't want to spend all my time with you talking about him."

"So you don't like him?" Arno asks.

" _ No _ ," Jacob says. "Not at all. Wish I'd known about him when I got Edgar, though. I'd have felt a little better, knowing my son couldn't possibly hate me as much as Rory hates Shay."

Arno kicks at Jacob's ankle. "That's a terrible thing to say."

"Rory's a pretty terrible person. I feel bad for Elena, for having him as a visitor all her life."

"Jacob—"

"No, sorry. I feel bad for  _ Jeanne _ . She has him as a brother and a visitor. That's so much worse. I mean, sometimes it was a tiny bit annoying getting visits from Evie back when we were still visiting, and I  _ like  _ Evie. I can't imagine what it would have been like if I'd been visiting some sibling that hated me instead."

"I just… I don't think he's all bad," Arno mumbles. "He can't be. No one's  _ all  _ bad."

Jacob raises a doubtful and very expressive eyebrow. Arno kicks him again. "Ow, Arno—I'm going to have a bruise."

 

"I'm going to see if he wants to do something this weekend," Arno announces. "Maybe getting out of the safehouse will cheer him up a little."

"Ooh," Jacob says. "Or, you could stab Shay a couple of times, that'd  _ really  _ brighten his day."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Arno says. "But I'm going to give it a try. Something has to change, or we'll all be at each other's throats."

"I guess that's true," Jacob allows. With great reluctance. "But no, I don't really want to come with you and Rory. Have a good time without me."

Arno kisses him, first on the side of his forehead, then on his ear. It surprises Jacob into a smile, and Arno is careful to avoid bringing Rory up for the rest of the evening, just in case the subject chases that smile away again.

-//-

Rory is eager enough to accept when Arno asks him if he wants to spend the day together.

"Please," he says at once. "I feel like I'm going crazy in here, with all these Templars around."

Arno bites back a sigh, and doesn't comment. "Is there anything you want to do?" he asks. "Or see, or whatever?"

Rory thinks this over for a little while. "It's kind of stupid," he admits.

"I'm sure it isn't," Arno says, encouragingly.

"Elena said—there's stores here that sell supplies for pets," Rory says. "And sometimes they do adoptions, and they have cats and dogs in the shop…"

Arno stares at him. "You want to go to a pet store?"

Rory nods, not looking at him.

"Well—sure," Arno says. "Why not, if that's what you want? There's one ten minutes from here." He's been there plenty of times, to get supplies for Marco. Rory nods wordlessly, so away they go. They're silent on the way over—Arno is focused on the drive, and Rory has his forehead pressed against the passenger side window, watching other cars on the road.

At the pet store, Rory is perfectly polite to the volunteers in charge of pet adoptions, and before long he's cradling a kitten in the crook of one arm, smiling. Arno watches him, and thinks about an article he'd read online, about people that bring cats and dogs to see sick people in hospitals. Rory is a special kind of sick, isn't he? And the fact that it's his fault, that doesn't make that sickness any less real.

The cat starts to mewl pitifully in protest to being held, and Rory hands it back to the volunteers. But there are plenty of other animals there, and Arno hangs back as Rory meets pretty much all of them. He doesn't step in until he realizes Rory is hugging a particularly large, fluffy dog, crying softly into its fur as the dog licks his ear. Arno distracts the volunteers with pointless questions just long enough for Rory to get himself back under control.

"Thank you," Rory says, when they're back in the car. Not driving yet, just sitting in the parking lot. Rory doesn't seem to be in any hurry to get back.

"You like animals," Arno observes.

"I miss my cat," Rory says. "I mean… she's dead, even in my time. I got her when I was a kid. But animals just like you in a way people can't. They're not complicated."

Arno used to raise goats, in his first lifetime, after he retired from the assassins. He thinks animals can be very complicated. "We could have brought one home," he says.

"That's okay," Rory says. "I'm only here for a year. I wouldn't want to leave an animal behind. I… hate losing anyone. Doesn't matter if it's a cat or…"

"Or…?"

"Everyone thinks I'm a terrible person," Rory bursts out. "I know they do, but I'm not, okay? I just—Templars are the enemy. They always have been, and they always will be."

"Before Jacob," Arno says. "I was very deeply in love with a Templar."

Rory nods.

"Look," he says. "I know no one agrees with me. Doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"But maybe," Arno tries. "It's a sign that you should reconsider your beliefs. You care for your visitors, right? You trust them?" Rory nods. "Then maybe you should think about the fact that every single one of them disagrees with you about this."

Rory doesn't say a word for a long time. Then, quietly, he says, "They scare me."

"Templars?"

"Yes." Rory shifts uncomfortably. "Ever since I was small, I've had nightmares. I'm always tiny in them, and—I don't know, it's such a mess. It's dark, and there's blood everywhere, and everyone's so much bigger than me. I can't fight back. I can't explain how terrified I am. I can't control it, and I just… know I'm going to die, I  _ know  _ it, and everywhere I look, there's a Templar ring right in front of me. I just—every time I see a Templar, it's like I'm back there. So I  _ know  _ the Templars are terrible. I just can't make anyone else believe me."

He looks at Arno, desperate and pleading. "Don't tell anyone. They'll think I'm weak."

"No they won't," Arno says. "They'll want to help."

"They can't," Rory whispers.

He won't say anything else about it, so Arno eventually gives up and takes them home. Within fifteen minutes, Rory is in the middle of a screaming match with James, and the others are hovering around, hoping no one is going to get punched this time. Arno watches from the edges of the group, horribly torn. So this is what Rory's fear looks like.

That night, he borrows Marco from his normal sleeping spot and moves him to Rory's room. Maybe that will help with the nightmares, just a little.


	14. Chapter 14

He's making a point by sitting here, in this room full of Templars. Everyone thinks he's so inflexible, so utterly incapable of spending time with Templars, Rory knows that's what they're saying about him. Well, here he is. In a room with three of them, just to prove that yes, actually, he is physically capable of being in the same room as them all without punching someone in the face.

Maybe then they'll stop giving him those looks…

James is on the other end of the room from the couch where Rory is sitting, reading a book. He's showing off a series of increasingly stupid magic tricks to Jacob, Jeanne, and Grace. A good chunk of said tricks (Rory can tell, even though he's doing his absolute best to keep his nose buried in his book and ignore everything around him) involve pulling things out of his nose.

It's odd. Rory could have sworn he remembers Elena telling him how much more mature her brother's gotten over the past couple of years.

Something about James's stupid routine is sending Jeanne and Jacob into fits of breathless laughter. Even Grace—who, from her tone, must have seen all this a dozen times already—can't seem to stop smiling.

"I have a card trick," James announces.

"Oh God," Grace groans. "Not the dinosaur one again—"

"No,” James says. He sounds like he’s positively beaming. “Not the dinosaur one again.”

“Really?” Grace asks.

“Cross my heart.”

"What's a dinosaur?" Jeanne asks. Rory risks a peek over the top of the couch, and sees his sister, relaxed and smiling, leaning just slightly against Jacob.

"These giant reptile things that lived before humans," Grace says.

"Before or after precursors?" Jacob asks.

"Probably before," Grace says, after considering this for a moment.

"My dad found one," James adds. “A really cool dinosaur called Sue.”

"No he didn't," Grace says. "He just lived close to where they were digging one up."

"Eh." James shrugs with one shoulder, and gives the other three a crooked, sideways grin. Rory catches himself staring at the massive bruise left over from where he'd punched James. It's huge and purple, and the funny thing is that it should make James's face look like a wreck. Somehow it doesn't quite manage to ruin his natural good looks, or hide the way his face dimples when he smiles.

Totally unfair, Rory decides. If he'd been punched that hard, he wouldn't look that good. Templars have all the luck…

"James," Grace says, shaking her head in fond exasperation.

"Come on," he says, producing a deck of cards from (apparently) thin air. "Everyone pick a card."

All three of them do as he says, and then Jeanne half turns to look at Rory. He flushes, suddenly aware that he's been staring at the four of them for several minutes now. "Do you want to pick a card too, Rory?" she asks.

"No," Rory says, louder than he should have. "I—"

James isn't looking at him. Jeanne and Jacob are used to Rory, and Grace has adopted the same steely eyed expression she always seems to turn on him, but James has gone red under the bruise, and his cocky, charming smile falters. Obviously their last encounter is still as fresh in his mind as the bruise is on his face.

Rory shakes his head and drops his eyes back to his book. He can't quite focus on what it's saying, no matter how hard he tries. It feels like the more he tries to concentrate on reading, the harder it is to ignore the conversation on the other end of the room. Eventually he gives up on the book altogether, listening as James gets back into the flow of his trick.

"Right," he says. "Anyway, remember what your card is, and stick it back in the deck."

Rory hears the sound of shuffling cards, and then a long, tense silence. Finally, after great pomp and circumstance, James says—"Is this your card?"

Jacob lets out a ha! of laughter, and Jeanne… what, is she giggling?

"I thought you said this wasn't the dinosaur trick!" Grace says.

"Whoops."

"James!"

More laughter. Despite himself, Rory finds that he's itching to see what it is the four of them are looking at. What do dinosaurs have to do with cards? Why is it so damned funny? He briefly considers looking over at them again, but he doesn't think he could stand being caught staring a second time.

Rory goes back to staring at his book, not seeing a single word, listening hard to the ongoing sounds of laughter from the other side of the room. Finally, Jacob—the other Jacob—shouts that dinner's ready.

"Did you cook?" Grace calls back.

"No!"

"Be right there!"

And the four of them head for the kitchen, still chattering away. Rory gives them a good thirty seconds to leave the room, then—when it's all quiet again—closes his book and sets it down, softly, before pushing himself off the couch and creeping over to where they'd all been standing.

There are two decks of cards lying on the little table next to where James had been standing. One, when Rory picks it up and examines it, is almost disappointingly normal. Apart from the feel of the material—cheap, plastic, and mass produced—it's exactly the same as a deck of cards Rory might have picked up back home. The second, however, is different. The backs of them look the same as the cards in the first deck, but someone—James, presumably—has drawn new fronts on all the cards. Rory flips through them all, and sees the familiar four suits, each with their value printed neatly in the corners. The rest of each card is taken up with detailed drawings of what Rory assumes are dinosaurs. Dinosaurs hanging out, dinosaurs dancing, dinosaurs driving cars, dinosaurs doing all sorts of ridiculous things.

Rory pauses on the two of hearts—a pair of dinosaurs, twisting their giraffe like necks around one another as if in a hug, eyes closed, smiling—and just takes in the details for a second.

"It's pretty much the only thing I know how to draw," James says suddenly, and Rory half jumps out of his skin. He hadn't heard anyone come in. "I got Elena to teach me to draw all these dinosaurs when I was a kid, so I can do them pretty well, but other than that it's pretty much just stick figures…"

Rory looks up at him just as James leans over to take his cards back, and for a second they're too close. Just… way, way too close. Rory hands the cards back, and takes a quick couple of steps away from James before he can figure out why it feels so weird to be this close.

"It's a pretty good trick," James says. His face is pink under the bruise. "See, everyone's expecting me to find the card they picked, and I do. But they're not expecting it to suddenly have dinosaurs on it." He holds up the two of hearts from the regular deck, then does something quick with his fingers and suddenly the dinosaur version is staring Rory in the face instead. "I don't know. It makes people laugh, anyway, because it's just so unexpected."

Rory nods, uncertain. He's not exactly sure why they're not shouting at each other.

"Um… anyway." He slips both cards into their respective decks. "I just came back because I forgot my stuff. And, ah… Mom said I should apologize for arguing with you the other day. When you, um. Hit me. And it's usually a good idea to do what she says because she's kind of scary when she gets mad." He laughs, and it's just one of those stupid, contagious laughs that makes Rory want to smile too.

He takes a deep breath, and tries not to let his expression change at all, tries not to think about the churning in the pit of his stomach that doesn't make any sense.

James clearly isn't all that comfortable having the entire conversation by himself. "Right," he mutters. "That’s my apology done, anyway." He gestures feebly toward the kitchen, and hurries away.

It's stupid and completely irrelevant, but Rory can't help noticing as James hurries away that he has a pretty nice butt.

-//-

James can just tell that Rory thinks his dinosaur cards are great. Of course he does, everyone thinks they're funny. They're hilarious, even Altair thinks they're funny. But for some reason, Rory won't laugh. Like—what, does he think he'd be betraying the assassins if he laughed at a Templar's jokes, or something? Probably. James has never met anyone that hates Templars as much as Rory does.

But he's going to make Rory laugh at his dinosaurs even if it takes all year.

"He punched you in the face," Matthew says later that night, when James sneaks into the room the guys on B-Team are sharing. "And now you're leaving playing cards in all his stuff."

"Well, yea," James says. He'd been planning to wait until the room was empty, but that's not happening anytime soon, and Matthew's confused commentary is better than Darim and Marcello having super loud sex on the floor.

"Why?"

"Um…" James pauses midway through putting cards into Rory's shoes and sits back on his heels, thinking. "He saw the cards earlier, and I tried to do like Mom said and make up with him, but it didn't go well. I figured I'd give it another chance? Because I guess…I like it when people like me. And Rory doesn't. Maybe this will help."

"You didn't seem to care if he liked you when you were shouting at him," Matthew says. "On that day he hit you.

James flushes. "The order's important to me," he says. "Rory was being a jerk about it. But, um…" He flushes. "Look, I can't get away from him until the end of the year, and he's not so bad when he's not yelling about Templars, right? He's just kind of quiet and sad looking. And… I really, really want people to like me."

Matthew sighs. "Fine. Just don't expect too much."

James nods, but he's already feeling more hopeful. Of course Rory is going to love his cards. Everybody loves his cards. "Will you tell me if Rory laughs?" he asks.

Matthew gives him a sympathetic, almost pitying look. "Sure," he says. "I'll let you know."

-//-

Matthew tries to be a good person. He tries to keep the peace. So when he sees James scattering his cards around Rory's little corner of the shared bedroom, it raises red flags. Rory's not going to think it's funny. Rory's going to (somehow) interpret this as a Templar mocking an assassin, and then poor James is going to get punched in the face again.

So he spends the rest of the evening hovering around the bedroom, waiting for Rory to come in and find the cards so he can try and talk him down. Rory comes in early, and the two of them talk for a minute or two before Rory mutters something about turning in early, and heads for his bed. Matthew tenses as he gets to the pillow, and sees the first card James had left there. He's ready for shouting, and ranting. He's ready to spend as long as necessary talking Rory down, because apparently James has no self preservation instincts whatsoever, but he's still Matthew's girlfriend's little brother.

But then Rory smiles.

And when he sees the next card, he smiles again. And then he spends a solid quarter of an hour hunting down the rest of the deck, He doesn't say a word, just smiles—a small, almost surprised little grin. Then he stacks all fifty two cards neatly next to his sleeping bag, settles himself down, and within five minutes is fast asleep. Still smiling.

Matthew isn't exactly sure why, but something about that smile makes him worry far more than any shouting or ranting ever could have done.


	15. Chapter 15

They settle into a routine, of sorts. Or at least a kind of semi-normality. The people that actually live in this time still have work to do. Assassin work, and Templar work. Jenny watches the careful way they draw a line between the two, and thinks—it was never like this before. She's had enough visits with Elena to know that relations between assassins and Templars are usually very friendly in this century. Yes, there are secrets, and subjects everyone knows not to mention. But there's also a general… understanding, and a shared affection for one another that keeps ideological differences from spreading into genuine ill will.

That's all changing now, and Jenny knows why. It's because of Rory.

The thing about Rory is that he never really changes his mind. If he's on your side, that's great, you have a friend for life. If you disagree with him, he will oppose you with every fiber of his being. And Rory does not like Templars.

Those that know him well have mostly learned to live with it. Shay and Jeanne have always had to live with Rory's intense, bitter hatred for their cause. Haytham, on the other hand, can't quite seem to wrap his head around the extent of Rory's feelings. Jenny's not quite sure why—hadn't Connor been the same, when he was young? But he's closer to Connor these days, they like each other, and Jenny likes to think her brother has forgotten what it is like to be hated with such intensity. And then there's Grace. She's tougher than Jenny ever would have expected from the little girl who had once cried after being told she wouldn't be allowed to go to Disney World. Although, to be totally fair to Grace, Jenny has seen Disney World while visiting Elena. It seems like the kind of place she would have cried over, if it had existed when she was small. These days, however, Grace just smiles at Rory, no matter what he says or does. She never falters in her politeness toward him, but she has been trained in diplomacy the way Rory's been trained to fight. Jenny watches her eyes, and sees the hurt there, and knows she will only be able to last so long before something snaps.

And then there's James, who is as stupid as every other eighteen year old boy Jenny has ever met. The massive bruise on his face from where Rory had hit him on their first meeting still hasn't faded, a continual reminder that an assassin in this house has finally hit a Templar. Maybe this is how it had started in the first place, Jenny thinks sometimes. Maybe there had been two groups of people with different ideas about the future, and then one of them had hit someone else, and it had all just devolved into the killing and kidnapping that Jenny is so thoroughly familiar with.

It's all just such a mess, and the templars have started drawing back a little, guarding their plans a little more closely, because what if Rory decides to take their plans and do what he can to ruin them? And the assassins have started keeping quiet about their plans as well, because if they don't know what the templars are doing, they can't really be  _ sure  _ how much it's safe to say. And Jenny wants to shout at them all but mostly she wants to shake Rory until he comes to his senses and stops being such a jerk about everything.

She doesn't, of course. Jenny feels like she can barely find her voice most days, and she can't imagine herself ever shouting at anyone. So she just watches this overwhelming mass of people in the safehouse break into factions, and she worries and worries about how bad things will get.

One night, when Jenny can't sleep at all, she goes down to the kitchen. She's half hoping there will be someone there for her to talk to, and half afraid there will be. When she gets downstairs, she finds Rory sitting alone and nursing a cup of tea, which is probably the worst possible outcome. And he's already seen her, so Jenny feels it would be rude to turn around and go back up to her room.

"Hello," she says instead.

Rory half smiles, a twisted little thing that sits oddly on his face. "Hey, Jenn," he says. "You couldn't sleep either?"

Jenny shakes her head and sits down next to him.

"Do you want to talk?" Rory asks hopefully. "I feel like I haven't done anything but argue with people since we all got here."

"That's because…" Jenny sighs, and shakes her head.

"What?" Rory presses.

"Why do you have to say the things you do about Templars?" Jenny asks.  "You know that's why everyone's fighting with you, don't you?"

"I'm an assassin," Rory says, and Jenny almost rolls her eyes because that's actually sort of hard to miss, thanks. "We're supposed to hate Templars."

"Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent," Jenny recites. "Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the brotherhood."

"What?"

"That's your creed, isn't it?" Jenny asks. "It doesn't say anything about hating anyone. Not even Templars."

Rory stares at her. "You don't understand," he says at last.

Jenny shakes her head no. She doesn't understand the way Rory sees the world, and she sincerely hopes that she never will.

"It's important," he says softly, sagging back in his chair. "It is."

They sit together in silence for a long time, until Jenny finally decides she's tired enough to try going back to bed. "Rory," she says, standing up but hovering uncertainly by his chair. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure," he says. "I guess."

"I don't understand why you have to be so angry with the Templars," Jenny says. "It doesn't seem worth it to me. You're driving all the people that care about you away, and I wish you wouldn't. But I'm going to be here, okay? Because you're my visitor and my friend and I know what it's like to be all by myself. So even if I don't agree with you…" Rory's staring hard at the table, and if Jenny didn't know better she'd swear he was crying. "Look, no matter what, you can't drive me away."

"Thank you," Rory says, after a long pause. His voice is hoarse, and maybe he is crying a little. "Jenny, I… I won't give up what I believe in, but I don't  _ want  _ to be alone."

She squeezes his shoulder, and tactfully leaves Rory alone just as she feels him start to shake with the effort of keeping his tears inside. When she reaches the stairs, she pauses just a second, just long enough to hear Rory's soft, breathless tears from behind her.


	16. Chapter 16

"Oh," James says. "Sorry, I thought you were Mom."

Jacob sighs. He's not feeling entirely his usual, good tempered self today. "Look," he says. "If you're going to start that 'I thought you were a girl, isn't Jacob a girl's name?' crap that B-Team seems to think is so funny, then you can go talk to the  _ other  _ Jacob."

"What?" James says. "No, it's just—this is Mom and Dad's room, and I just saw Dad downstairs, so…"

"Oh," Jacob says. "Right. No, I don't know where Evie is."

James nods unhappily, and Jacob starts to get the distinct feeling that something is wrong. "Did you need to talk about something?"

"I'd rather talk to Mom, if that's okay," James says. He doesn't look as happy as he usually does, either. "I don't think she's as likely to overreact and kill someone."

"I'm not going to kill anyone," Jacob says. "James, seriously. Sit down and tell me what's wrong."

James hesitates, but sits. "I think… don't laugh? I think Rory's been watching me, and… look, so he hates Templars, right?" Jacob nods, as much to encourage James to go on with his hesitant, stammering explanation as in agreement. "So I think… is he planning to kill me?"

This is not the question Jacob had been expecting to hear; on the other hand, he can understand why James was worried about coming to him. Jacob doesn't think he'd actually kill one of Shay and Aveline's children, but Rory is getting on his absolute last nerve. If he's going to go after Jacob's nephew for being a Templar, then Jacob is going to have something to say about it.

"Uncle Jacob?" James says. "Can you say something, please?"

"Um…" Jacob sighs. "Look, if you're really worried, I can try talking to him. Or ask Evie to talk to him."

"If you don't mind," James says. "I know it's stupid, but I'm really worried about it, you know?"

"Sure," Jacob says. "I'll see what I can do."

-//-

Rory is eating his (solitary, as usual) lunch when Jacob Frye drops into a seat nearby. It's something of a relief, to be honest. Rory is really tired of the way everyone is avoiding him.

But then Jacob says, "My nephew says you've been watching him," and Rory almost chokes on his food.

"What?" he says. "Which nephew?"

"I only have the one."

James. Rory's pulse speeds up, and he can feel his face heating up horribly. "I haven't been watching him," he lies, because the truth is he can't  _ stop  _ watching James. He's a Templar, yes, but he's got this kind of… charisma around him. Ever since that day Rory had found a pack of dinosaur cards scattered around his things, Rory finds himself waiting to see what ridiculous thing James is going to do next.

"He says you have been."

"Well, he's lying. I don't know why you're surprised, that's all Templars ever do."

Rory can't remember the last person that makes him laugh the way James does. He's funny in a kind of charming, carefree way that makes something in Rory feel twisted up and strange. And it's not just when there are other people around, because sometimes Rory will watch James just screw around on his own—yesterday, he'd sat in the kitchen for an hour, pretending to read a book and watching James. He'd been in the next room over, trying and failing to balance a pencil on his nose. There was something about the way his whole face crinkled up in concentration, or the way he'd sway back and forth as the pencil started to come down. By the time Haytham called James away for some kind of Templar training, there'd been a smile plastered across Rory's face a mile wide, and it was all he could do not to laugh out loud.

_ Shit,  _ he has a serious problem.

"Just stay away from him. If you do anything to hurt James, you're going to bring nothing but pain down on your own head."

"I don't want anything to do with some Templar."

Except that he's starting to have dreams about the things he wants to do with this Templar, specifically. The kinds of dreams assassins are not supposed to have about Templars—the kinds of dreams Rory just can't stop _.  _ Every night he wakes up, sweating under his blankets and strangely lonely, with only the ghostly memories of his dreams to keep him company.

Jacob is just starting to stand up to leave when Rory says, "Wait!"

"What?"

Rory's mouth hangs open like he's some kind of idiot—he hadn't meant to call Jacob back. But there are questions swirling around in his head that he really needs answers to. "Is James  _ really  _ a Templar?" he asks, and somehow his face grows even redder, somehow he's just  _ burning  _ up inside. "Elena told me he didn't choose a side until he was like sixteen. So… so I thought maybe he wasn't really sure."

Because if James isn't  _ really  _ a Templar, that would explain everything. Right? Real Templars don't act like James, they don't smile like James, they don't have those dimples like James, those dimples that some horrible part of Rory wants to kiss—

Jacob is looking at him in a way Rory doesn't quite like. It's like he's just figured something out, and now everything makes sense (Rory wishes things made sense to  _ him _ ). "Oh," he says.

"Oh what?" Rory snaps.

Jacob looks at him for a minute, then shakes his head and gets up without another word.

-//-

Later that night, when everyone (except Rory) is gathered in the kitchen, trying to find enough dishes and cutlery for dinner, James catches Jacob in a relatively quiet corner of the room. "Hey," he says. "Did you get a chance to talk to Rory?"

He's really hoping Jacob has just… fixed everything, because he's tired of feeling like he's being watched all the time. This is his home. He wants to feel safe here.

"Yea," Uncle Jacob says. "I did. But listen, James—I don't think you're worried about the right thing."

Well, that's super helpful. "So… he doesn't want to kill me?"

"I think he'd like to kiss you, actually," Uncle Jacob says. He sounds perfectly cheerful about it, which does not seem like the right reaction to have.

James laughs. " _ No _ ," he says. "Really, Uncle Jacob? He hates Templars, and I'm a Templar, so he has to hate me."

"Look," Uncle Jacob says. "I don’t understand it, you don't understand it, and I don't think Rory understands it. Everyone is very confused."

"So what do you think I should do?"

"Depends," Uncle Jacob says. "Do you like him?"

James hesitates a beat or two. "If I say yes, are you seriously going to suggest I do something about it? Because this is  _ Rory _ ."

"Sure," Uncle Jacob says. "The first man I ever kissed was Maxwell Roth, and that turned out horribly. So no matter how bad you and Rory turn out, it can't be any worse than that." He just looks way too happy about all of this. "So do you like him?" he asks again.

"I don't know!" James says. "I've never… I don't know anything about this—" He takes a breath, and thinks about Rory, tries to figure out what he actually knows about him. He knows Rory is an assassin. And he knows he hates Templars.

And he knows he's lonely.

James has spent a lot of time feeling lonely. That's what drove him into the Templars in the first place. He'd wanted to do something good in the world, but  _ needed  _ to stop skulking in safehouses, hidden away from the rest of the world.

He nods vaguely, not really sure what he's agreeing to, and Uncle Jacob smiles before walking away.

-//-

Rory sometimes sits up on the roof while everyone else is at dinner. He can't stand to sit at a table with that many Templars, but he hates being inside, where he can hear their conversation drifting up to him. He's up there now, hugging his knees and watching the strangeness of the twenty first century below him, when he suddenly realizes there's someone else here.

"Hey," James says. He's holding two plates full of food, and hands one off to Rory before Rory can think to say no. "I thought you might want some company."

"Did you?" Rory asks. James eases into a nervous, crouching position a few feet away.

"Sure," James says. "And I thought maybe we could talk a little."

If Rory was smart, he'd send the Templar away now. But apparently he's not as smart as he thinks he is, because he nods a little. "Sure," he says. "Talking sounds good."


	17. Chapter 17

James isn't sure why he brings Rory's dinner up to the roof that first night, and he's not sure why he keeps doing it in the nights after that. He's still pretty worried that Rory is going to try and kill him. Uncle Jacob says Rory is, um… he's—interested. But James doesn't have a whole lot of faith in Uncle Jacob when it comes to romance, it took him literally an entire lifetime to win Uncle Arno over.

Still—it's funny. Now that Uncle Jacob has mentioned it, there's this part of James that can't stop wondering, well, what if he's right? And every time he thinks about it, he can't stop himself from feeling this little thrill, like he's about to do something dangerous and stupid. It's like standing on the edge of a tall building, toes over the edge, looking down. Or like going on his first mission with Grace, knowing there's no safety net if they're caught, that the consequences and the danger are  _ real _ .

Maybe that's why James keeps coming back. Maybe he likes that little thrill of knowing he's sitting with someone that might possibly want to kill him.

In the first few days, all they really do is sit on the roof, balancing their plates on their knees, paying more attention to their food than to each other. James doesn't really know what to say, because it seems he should probably say one thing to a Rory that wants to kill him, and something else to a Rory that likes him.

So they just go on in silence for several days, and then finally it's Uncle Arno's turn to cook, and James feels obligated to warn Rory. "So, Uncle Jacob didn't really cook this, but I think Uncle Arno made him help and this  _ might  _ be sort of inedible."

Rory hesitates, but takes his food anyway. "I keep hearing about how bad Jacob's cooking is," he says. "But it can't  _ actually  _ be that bad, can it?"

James gestures to the plate, and waits for Rory to take a bite. Then he tries really hard not to laugh as Rory nearly spits it right back out.

"Oh, God," he says. "That actually  _ is _ awful."

-//-

It's not the best conversation starter, but after Rory almost dies from Jacob's cooking, his meals with James get a lot more interesting. They spend that whole evening complaining about terrible meals they’ve had in the past, and then the next day they just start talking like there's no tension between them, like there isn't a swarm of butterflies going mad in Rory's stomach every time James grins at him.

One day, not long after they start talking, James leans over to tap Rory's forearm. Rory fights to keep his face impassive. "Why do you have your hidden blades on?" he asks. "Planning to use them?" His voice is cautious, but his eyes spark with some secret excitement. Rory half-smiles—it's not like a Templar to be interested in hidden blades, right? He adds it to his growing mental list of Reasons James is Secretly an Assassin and Just Doesn't Know It Yet.

"I always wear them," Rory says. "Even in my time. I mean… I have to live in the same house as a Templar. I never really feel safe, do you know what I mean? He's my dad but I… I never know what he's going to do." Rory has never told anyone all this before—maybe, as contradictory as it might seem, the fact that James is a templar makes this easier. "Like… like  _ what if _ …"

James nods like this makes sense, and Rory feels absurdly, pathetically grateful. "Are you scared of me, then?" James asks. "I'm a Templar too."

Rory shakes his head at once. Impossible to think of James as a Templar.  _ Impossible _ . His parents are both assassins (and  _ amazing  _ assassins, at that—Rory is still a little bit awed at how Desmond saved the world, and Evie is absolutely ruthless as a fighter). He's definitely fascinated by hidden blades (even now, he's poking at Rory's bracers with obvious interest). And James is just too open, too much of a free spirit, to be a Templar. Rory can't imagine him following orders, fighting for the Templar's need to control the world.

"I'm afraid of you," James says, all matter of fact.

It feels like something sharp being stabbed into him. "You are?"

"Sure. You hate Templars. I'm a Templar. And you punched me in the face the first time we met."

"I'd never hurt you," Rory says, more earnestly than he'd meant. James raises his eyebrows. "Well—not  _ again _ , anyway."

James bursts out laughing, and Rory's whole world gets a little bit brighter.

-//-

Rory kisses James first. Just leans over and does it, like he thinks he's going to explode if he waits another second. James is pretty happy about that, because he's honestly been wanting to make out with Rory since the day Rory let him sit there, poking at his blades. But James has never kissed anyone before, and he knows Rory used to be with Darim, who Elena says is a  _ very  _ good kisser (and is that weird, that he's sitting here with his lips glued to the guy who used to sleep with his big sister's first boyfriend?).

Rory doesn't seem to mind James's inexperience—he makes a pleased noise against James's mouth. He rests one hand (almost gingerly) on James's back, and the other cradles the side of James's face, just where he'd punched him on the day they first met.

James shivers under the touch with something between need and fear. Oh  _ God _ , he can feel Rory's hidden blade up against his cheek, and all James can think is how Rory could kill him right now if he wanted, and how he  _ absolutely should not  _ be so turned on by that danger.

Rory pulls away, just a fraction of an inch. "You okay? You're shaking."

He is, James realizes. That's funny. "I'm great," he says. "Awesome. You?"

Rory nods. They're so close that his bangs tickle and scratch at James's forehead. They go back to kissing.


	18. Chapter 18

Haytham is in the kitchen filling a pan with bacon when his sister Jacob saunters in purposefully. "Must be strange for you," she begins without preamble. "Having another sister after all this time."

"It is odd, I'll admit," Haytham tells her, putting the pan into the hot oven and washing his hands.

"And such a strange sister," she adds, carefully watching his reaction.

Haytham shrugs. "Have you seen the people I live with? Have you _met_ our father? There's strange aplenty in this family."

"Not like me," Jacob insists. "I mean, here I am living as a man, more a brother than a sister in some ways."

Haytham shrugs again. "Call yourself my brother, then, if you'd rather. It makes no difference to me. I'll call you brother or sister as you like."

Jacob startles. "Are such things--in your time--are people--?"

Haytham sits at the kitchen table. "Do you mean, is it acceptable for someone born female to call herself--himself--a man? Yes, for the most part." He smiles tightly. "Due in some small part to the actions of my Templars influencing society for the better."

Jacob sits down heavily. "What is this world you live in?" she asks in wonderment.

Haytham waves a hand. "A world unlike the one we grew up in, in some ways. For instance, Jacob--the other Jacob, and Arno, they're married." He pauses a beat. "To each other."

Jacob stares at him. "And that Jacob's not a woman like me?"

Haytham shakes his head. "No, they're both men, as far as I know. It's legal in this time, you know, two men or two women."

Jacob's face lights up, no surprise to Haytham. "I see." She smiles softly and makes some excuse to leave before long.

* * *

"Pardon me," Jacob says respectfully, taking Shay by surprise. He self-consciously stows his phone in his pocket--he'd been sending dirty texts to Aveline, and doesn't really want anyone else to see. Except Haytham, of course.

"Um, did you--did you need anything?" he asks politely. Truth to tell, Jacob has always unnerved him a little, ever since he used to sail the _Morrigan_ with Aveline and their children to the Homestead every year to spend time with Connor. It's an adjustment, knowing that the wiry, fierce woman he'd always been so wary of is passionately in love with his beloved daughter Jeanne.

"Yes, yes I do," Jacob says with a quiet smile. It illuminates her face, brightens her hazel eyes. It's the same exact smile as Haytham's, Shay realizes, that smile that can make his heart stop. It's a disquieting thought. "I'd like, well, please, may I ask for your daughter's hand? In marriage?"

Shay gapes. "Why are you asking me?"

Jacob rolls her eyes. "Because you're her _father_ ," she says, as if this is self-evident.

"I mean," Shay tries again, "in this time you don't have to ask a woman's father's permission."

Jacob sets her jaw stubbornly. It's another expression that would look at home on Haytham's face. "I am still in my heart a man of the 18th century, and if a piece of Eden gives me the chance to marry my true love, I'm _going_ to ask her father for his blessing."

Shay spreads his hands wide. "Then you have it. Make my little girl happy, is all I ask."

Jacob's eyes are laughing, but she contains it in a tight smile. "She's your eldest girl, you know."

"But I died when she was so young," Shay explains. "In my mind she's hardly older than she is now. But I've gotten to see Geraldine and Grace get as old as she is, and a little older. And I know I'll see them grow older still. But Jeanne is a young woman to me and always will be." He smiles regretfully. "Aveline and I got started with having children so late."

"You understand, then? I have only this year with Jeanne. I want to make the most of it."

Shay nods. "I do understand. So why are you talking to _me_? Go ask her!"

Jacob flashes him a quick smile and leaves the room.

* * *

Haytham has just come out of the bathroom when he sees his sister Jacob knocking on the door of the room where Grace and Jeanne are talking. "Stop the Templar business for one moment, I'm coming in," she calls, then opens the door. Haytham watches from the hallway as Jacob flings herself to one knee in front of Jeanne. "Jeanne Cormac, will you marry me?" she asks in a rush.

Jeanne blinks. "You know I _would_ if we could."

Jacob practically shouts, "But we can!" just as Grace points out, "Actually, you can."

Jeanne stares, stunned, then smiles. "Then yes. Let's get married."

Jacob half-stands and takes Jeanne in her arms, and they kiss passionately for a long time, while Grace rolls her eyes at her father through the doorway. Haytham just looks smug.

Jenny walks past and looks in the room. "Something happen?"

Haytham looks very pleased with himself. "We're going to have a sister-in-law."

Jenny nods. "Figures she'd be the only one of us to get married."

Haytham sighs at her. "I told you, I _can't_. This world is not that advanced yet."

"Hmm. Despite your Templars' best efforts?" Jenny asks with a smile.

"We're working on it," Haytham tells her.

"To improve society, or just so Shay and Aveline can make you an honest man?" Jenny teases.

"Both," Haytham insists stiffly.

"I hope for your sake it happens," Jenny tells him softly, as they watch Jacob hug Jeanne and spin her around the room out of sheer joy. "You deserve to be as happy as they are right now."

Haytham sighs, looking longingly at his sister and future sister-in-law.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that I'M AWFUL and forgot to post what should have been chapter seven of this story. So if you go back to chapter seven... that's a new chapter now.
> 
> *hides*

Matthew never stops laughing at condoms. They're not something he and Elena have ever had to worry about before (visiting doesn't allow for pregnancy or disease), and they're unheard of in Matthew's time. But now that they're physically together, it's something they have to start thinking about. Unfortunately, Matthew is liable to burst out laughing every time they get to that part, which rather kills the mood.

"Stop it," Elena says, giving Matthew a whack on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he says, still laughing.

"You're hopeless."

"They're  _ funny _ !"

Elena shakes her head, but there's a little smile bleeding into the edge of her expression. "Matthew," she says. "I love you, you know that. And I love that you have a sense of humor. But we're not going to have sex at all this year if you can't get used to the condoms."

"I know," Matthew says. He makes a legitimate effort to compose himself. "I'll try to be better."

"Or…" Elena hesitates, visibly.

"Or what?"

"I mean… we don't have to use the condom. If we were in your time instead of mine, we wouldn't be using one."

"But we're not in my time," Matthew says. "We're in yours. And I don't want to worry about either of us getting sick or whatever."

"I don't think we'd have to worry about that anyway," Elena says. "We're both clean, right?"

"Well… I mean, I guess so. But you can still get pregnant if we don't use the condom."

"Yea," Elena says. Even in the dim light of her bedroom, Matthew can see the way her face has suddenly turned bright red. "I could."

"Oh," Matthew says. It's only one word, but it's almost impossible to force it out.

For a moment, there's silence. Matthew knows Elena wants children; they've argued about it before, and that had been when they were in different centuries, and children were an impossibility.

"We could do it," Elena says. "And this is the only chance we'll ever have."

"We… could," Matthew allows. Elena sighs, and her shoulders slump.

"But you don't want to," she says.

"I don't want to have a child I'll never meet," Matthew says.

"That's fair," Elena allows. Her voice is wet, and she sounds like it's taking everything she has to keep herself from crying. Matthew moves, at once, to wrap his arms around her and pull her close. For a heartbeat or two they just hold each other.

"I'm sorry," Matthew says.

"No," Elena says. Her hair tickles his shoulder as she shakes her head. "I just want a kid so badly—I'm being selfish about it."

" _ No _ ," Matthew says. "Elena… we should probably talk about this. Shouldn't we?"

"Probably," she admits.

They don't let go of each other.

"Tell me why you want a child," Matthew says. "I'll listen, I promise."

Elena hesitates. "It's stupid."

"I'm sure it's not."

"It's just… I love them already. This kid that we're never going to have, I already love them. I just got this idea into my head when I was a little girl that of course I'd have a baby one day, and I'd love them as much as my dad loves me. I couldn't wait. And then when we got together, and I started to think how that little imaginary baby would be  _ your  _ imaginary baby too, and I…" she shakes her head, and Matthew feels her tears from where she's pressed against him.

"I didn't know it was so important to you," he says, as gently as he can. "You could have told me."

"It never mattered until this year," Elena says. "It hurts less to want something that won't happen, if that something is impossible anyway. But now you're here."

Matthew sits there for a long time, just holding Elena. He hates thinking that he might leave Elena alone at the end of the year to raise their child. Hates knowing that child will never even know him.

"Haven't you ever thought about kids?" Elena asks. She sounds almost pleading, and Matthew hates that most of all. Elena is the strongest person he knows. He's never heard her beg, and she sounds pitifully close to it now.

"No," Matthew says, honestly. "I really haven't. I've always known it would be impossible, so I guess I never saw the point."

"Oh."

"But… I guess we might as well try."

"Not if you don't want it," Elena says. "Not if—"

"I won't be here anyway," Matthew reminds her. "But you want a child. And I want you to be happy. And… I can't imagine a better mother for this child to have."

Elena pulls away from him—her face is still wet and smeared with tears. "You're sure?"

"No," Matthew admits. "I guess I'm not really sure  _ how  _ I feel. But it's not completely up to us, right? We can't really control whether or not you conceive, so… let's just leave it up to fate. We'll do everything we can. Maybe it happens, maybe it doesn't…"

"But we can try," Elena says. "Are you— _ thank you _ ."

"I love you," Matthew says. "Okay, Elena? You're all I need to be happy. I get to see you…" he makes a vague, unhappy noise. "What, once a month? If I'm lucky? And that's all I need. That's it. And I know you'll be a great mother." He speaks a little more quickly, with a little more confidence. "I know you'll love our child with everything you have, and that'll be the luckiest baby in the world. So yea. Let's try."

Elena makes a noise without words, and kisses him.

They do not use a condom that night, or for many nights after.


	20. Chapter 20

It's all Edward's fault, really. He's the one who, while listing all the ways Abstergo has harmed him and his loved ones, mentions, "Oh, and they made a video game of my life, and it sucks." Marcello had asked how badly it sucked, and that led to Edward breaking out the box of old gaming consoles and accidentally making a complete and useless mess of the TV and cables, which Geraldine had to sort out before he could load up Abstergo's foray into pirate-themed entertainment.

Then everyone gets to see him completely fail at making the little onscreen Edward sneak, assassinate, or sail successfully.

"But _this_ I can do," Edward says gleefully as he makes himself swig rum until he wakes up in a nearby leaf pile.

Behind the watching visitors, Adéwalé sighs the sort of sigh he reserves for his old friend's worst foibles. "I cannot tell you the number of times I found him like that."

Edward goes back to failing miserably at pressing the right buttons until Marcello asks, "Can I try?"

Marcello is terrible, Matthew is mediocre, Darim continually freezes up and then mashes several of the wrong buttons at once, Jacob is about as talented as Edward himself, Jeanne can't get the hang of the control sticks, and Rory refuses to try, despite James urging him. Elena declines to play a game she's beaten twice. But when Jenny takes the controller, she stares at it for a minute with deep concentration, and then begins to play.

She's not great by any means, but she makes her way through a few missions with everyone cheering her on. Satisfied, she grins and selects the last mission.

"No, wait..." Edward begins, but the cutscene has already started playing, and everyone stares, transfixed.

At one point, Marcello elbows Jacob. "That's Anne, isn't it?" he whispers, and she nods mutely, then gasps.

"Is that...my mother? With the red bandana?"

Edward nods, looking deeply miserable. "Aye, that's her."

Adéwalé murmurs, "She was a good friend to the both of us and set us on the path to becoming Assassins."

Jenny pats Jacob's bony knee blindly. "Father, is this...is it..." On the screen, a little girl, doll clutched in her arm, reaches out to take flowers from Edward's hand.

"It's you," Matthew breathes. "I remember when you looked like that."

"And Dolly the doll!" Rory chimes in. "There she is."

Jenny blinks away tears as the credits roll, and Darim gets her a tissue to blow her nose as she watches herself pester Edward about boats and ships.

"Who cares what the difference is?" Rory groans.

Jeanne pipes up, "Papa does. And Tomas."

Jacob laughs. "I do too." She squeezes Jeanne's hand tightly.

Rory groans again, muttering to himself.

"It's very important," Edward insists.

Adéwalé leans close to Rory and whispers, "No, it isn't."

"Stop sending him mixed messages, he's confused enough already," James says, stealthily touching the back of Rory's hand. Rory's ears turn brick red.

"Wait through the credits," Elena advises them as an interminable list of names scrolls up the screen, and Jenny idly makes Edward raise and lower the sails. At last, a new scene begins. Elena grins. "Hold on, be right back," she promises, and returns with Shay and Grace just as a young man onscreen is stumbling through being snubbed by Jenny. A little boy whines for Edward's attention, and Elena points to him. "There he is, that's Grandpa! Look, Shay, aren't you in looooooove with him?"

Everyone laughs but Shay, who flushes and smiles. "It's good to see him as an actual child," he says softly, and Elena falls silent, remembering all the times her grandpa thought he _was_ a child, ten years ago.

Grace demands, "How come I've never seen Dad like this?"

Elena shrugs. "You never stick around for the cutscenes, you always skip them."

"He is an adorable little brat, our little brother," Jacob offers.

"Brat's the right word," Jenny says, trying to smile.

"Jenny, what's wrong?" Marcello asks, brow furrowed.

"Him!" Jenny spits, pointing at the man who had been trying to talk to her in the game. "That's _Reginald Birch_. My _fiancé_." She grimaces and shoots Edward a look of rage. "He's the one that killed you, father, and had me kidnapped."

"I know," Edward tells her.

"I wish I could find him and tear him limb from limb!" Jenny fumes. Edward stares at his feet guiltily.

Just then, Haytham walks by, peering over at the screen. "Is that the opera house? Is that... _me_?"

Elena rolls her eyes. "Yes, Grandpa, you've seen this before."

"I still can't believe they got this out of my memories and put it in my father's video game," Haytham continues.

Rory looks at him sharply. "This is from _your_ memories? I thought this game was about Edward's life."

Elena starts trying to explain the Animus and genetic memories, while Marcello launches into a discussion of different antiquated theories of what would come to be known as genetics, and Darim tries to get them to take turns talking, so nobody even sees Jenny clenching her fists and staring at the screen in fury as the game goes back to the menu.


	21. Chapter 21

Rory corners Jenny in the kitchen while she's trying to make herself tea. The kitchen is a mess—of course it is, there are simply too many people living here—and she hasn't even found a clean mug when suddenly Rory is right next to her.

"Oh!" Jenny steps back, startled and hating herself for the reaction. Years of captivity have taught her fear, but this is supposed to be a safe place. These are people she trusts. "Rory."

"Jenny," Rory says. "Hey."

They stand there for a while, watching each other. Rory looks distinctly uncomfortable, and Jenny does a quick check to see if there are any Templars in the room. Usually, that's the only thing that can make Rory look quite that unhappy. But there's no one in the room but the two of them. Adewale is just visible in the next room, but he's reading the newspaper and eating his breakfast. Clearly not paying them any attention.

"What's wrong?" Jenny asks.

"Can you do me a favor?"

"I don't know," Jenny hedges. "What kind of a favor do you need?"

"Hold these," Rory says, and suddenly he's handing over his hidden blades. Jenny is so surprised she almost drops them.

"Why?" she demands. The bracers are warm, probably because Rory never takes them off, and they feel improbably heavy in her hands. Jenny's never actually held a set of hidden blades before. Suddenly, a part of her that she barely even recognizes is itching to try them on.

"I'm going to talk to James," Rory says. His voice is perfectly cheerful, but something in his expression is strained.

"Okay," Jenny says. "And?"

"I think it's about time we talked about why he thinks he needs to be a Templar," Rory says. "And I want to suggest he switch sides while I'm not armed. It just… doesn't seem right to be armed. It would be like saying I don't trust him, and I do. I want him to listen to me, and really think about it. He'd be a great assassin, if he just gave it a chance. Don't you think."

This conversation is going to end horribly. "Oh," Jenny says. "I guess—maybe? If he  _ wanted _ to be an assassin."

"He just doesn't know what he wants yet," Rory says, with the absolute certainty that is peculiar to him. He smiles at her and heads out of the kitchen—Jenny resists the temptation to throw one of his bracers at his thick head.

She leans against the nearest counter, all thoughts of making tea suddenly forgotten. Rory's plan to go and tell James that his whole ideology is wrong is obviously worrisome, but suddenly Jenny is preoccupied with the intense gravity of the bracers in her hand. She puts one down next to her, and carefully rests the other against her forearm. She doesn't put it on, she's too afraid of accidentally activating it and cutting off something important. But she puts it on top of her arm, and sort of squints so that for a second it  _ looks  _ like she's wearing the bracer.

Jenny can't fight. At all. Maybe if her father had taught her when she was young, the way he'd taught Haytham, things would have been different. But as it stands, the assassin's bracer against her arm is nothing but a reminder to Jenny of how helpless she is.

Can't fight. Can't run. Can't even talk back. That's the worst of being a prisoner. Feeling her captivity crawl inside her head, knowing that her captors have trapped her spirit as thoroughly as they've trapped her body. Jenny is utterly helpless. She knows that it's as much her fault as anyone's that she's been a prisoner all these years.

Her feet make the decision before her brain figures it out, so that by the time Jenny has made up her mind, she's already left the kitchen and walked over to Adewale. He's been kind to her; he'd probably help her if she asked.

(But Jenny doesn't just want help, she wants her  _ father _ .)

"Do you know where my father is?" she asks Adewale. His eyes stray to Jenny's arms, and she suddenly realizes she's clutching Rory's blades to her chest. Protectively, like she's cradling a child.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"I'm fine," Jenny says, too quickly.

"Are you sure?" Adewale asks. His voice sounds gentle, like he's trying not to spook a skittish animal.

"Positive," Jenny says, keeping her voice as strong as she can.

"He's up in Ezio's room," Adewale says. "I suggest knocking before you go in."

Jenny nods, and hurries upstairs with Rory's bracers still clutched tight against her. She does not knock when she reaches Ezio's door, but bursts in. Her father is in there alone, which is a bit of a relief, but Jenny is long since accustomed to the fact that her father has casual sex with a sixteenth century assassin. Even catching them in the act wouldn't have stopped Jenny now.

Probably.

"Jenny," her father says, when she bursts in on him. "What's the matter."

"Teach me to fight," Jenny says, without preamble.

"I think… it's probably too late. I hate it, but you're already a prisoner. Not even Altair could fight his way out of a slave camp, and he's probably the best fighter I know." He looks both uncomfortable and distinctly miserable. Jenny squashes down the instinct to back down and give in.

"No," she insists. "You don't  _ get  _ a choice about this. You should have taught me to fight when I was a little girl, and you didn't. You missed that chance, and because of that, I've been a prisoner since the day you died."

He looks stricken. Jenny steels herself.

"I wish I had taught you to fight," her father says. "Of course I do. But—what's the point? What good will it do you now?"

"There is a  _ world  _ of difference," Jenny says. "Between being a captive that is completely helpless, and being a captive who is capable of more. I know that no amount of fighting skill will let me fight my way out of a heavily armed camp. But… I'll know what I'm capable of.  _ I will know _ ."

“Jenny--”

“Teach me,” she says, and she has never felt so sure of anything in her life, never felt so unwaveringly certain.

Her father stares at her for a moment. Then he nods. "Alright," he says. "Let's start today."


	22. Chapter 22

"It's not the same," Rory complains as he puts Mr. Potato Head's mouth on his ear hole. 

"What's not the same?" Jeanne asks, absorbed in her porcelain plates. 

"This toy. It's not like my potato sculptures at all." Rory gestures to the toy. The eyes fall out of the mouth hole as he does. 

"Still, it was nice of Maman and Papa to think of us. Ooh, look at the little kittens!" She shows him last month's plate. 

He looks distrustfully at it. "It's cute, I guess. Did you know there was a famous artist who painted faces that looked like my potatoes? His name was Picasso. But I was long before him. I could have been famous, Jeanne."

Jeanne smiles tolerantly at him. "My brother, the famous root vegetable sculptor. Your potatoes could have sold for ten thousand dollars."

"Ten _million_ ," he corrects. 

"You should have picked a more permanent medium," she advises. "Like these." She points to her plates. "Not food."

Rory sighs. "When we get back to our time, maybe I'll learn to work in clay. The problem is, I see a potato and I can _see_ the face inside. Clay doesn't speak to me like potatoes do."

"Why don't you sculpt a clay potato and then see what face is in it?" Jeanne asks, trying to be helpful. 

Rory groans. "It's just not the same.”


	23. Chapter 23

"You should get some sleep, sister," Jacob Kidd tells Jenny as the latter embroiders with a kind of grim determination. "Tomorrow's a big day."

Jenny smiles wistfully. " _You_ should get to sleep. It's _your_ big day."

Jacob teases, "I don't want you to look exhausted while you're standing next to my beautiful bride."

Jenny's smile becomes strained. "I can't help thinking something awful is going to happen. You're the only one of our generation of Kenways to get married. Haytham never has and I never will. Marriage is too happy a thing for the likes of us."

Jacob shakes her head firmly. "We're not _doomed_ to be unhappy. Everyone says you'll be free one day. And even Haytham has found happiness." She hugs Jenny, who accepts it limply.

"I still think something terrible is going to happen," Jenny says gloomily.

"And that, big sister, is where you are wrong. This time tomorrow I'll be in bed with my wife and everything will be perfect. You just wait."


	24. Chapter 24

Falling in love with someone old enough to be your grandmother is difficult, even when she happens to be a visitor. Jeanne had resigned herself early on to the fact that no one in her life will ever know she loves Jacob (well, no one but Rory). They won't ever marry. They won't get to grow old together, there is no happily ever after waiting for them.

That's all still true, except suddenly they have this year. And for a year they can be normal, they can be in love and it doesn't matter who knows it. Jeanne  _ finally  _ gets to introduce Jacob to her parents, properly, and hear her father approve of her.

"The Templars in this family just know how to pick good assassin women," he says, shaking his head in mock seriousness.

"And of course the assassins know how to pick good Templar men," Jeanne's mother adds, and while Jeanne tactfully looks away from the ensuing kiss, she sees Rory looking awkward and oddly guilty on the other side of the room.

"What's wrong with you?" Jeanne calls, maybe a little more harshly than she would have in other circumstances. He's younger than her this year, which means that back home in their own time, he's already been through all this, and just hasn't told her about it. Jeanne is still sort of upset about this.

" _ Nothing _ ," Rory says, so emphatically that Jeanne knows he's lying. "And just because Maman has to marry a Templar doesn't mean _ — _ look, we don't all…" His face twists up like he's sucking a lemon. "I'm not in love with a Templar!"

Jeanne rolls her eyes as Rory leaves the room and slams the door behind him. Her brother is weird. All her brothers are weird, really, but Rory is the worst of them all, and Jeanne is more than used to him by now. She doesn't want to think about Rory when she could be spending this (entire) year thinking (exclusively) about Jacob.

She's content to just take the year they have and make the most of it, but apparently Jacob isn't. In March, she proposes to Jeanne, and Jeanne almost forgets to say anything, she's so surprised. Out of all the things that could have happened in their relationship, only Jacob announcing she's pregnant would have surprised Jeanne more.

Finally, she remembers to nod, and Jacob kisses her like she'll never stop.

And after that, they marry. They don't wait long, only a week and a half before arranging a quick ceremony. Jeanne wouldn't have minded a big wedding, but she knows Jacob would have been uncomfortable, and anyway if they took the time to plan that out, they'd run out of time to actually  _ be married _ . They only have a year, after all.

After the ceremony, everyone else crowds outside, and Geraldine and Marcello argue with Shaun over the best way to arrange the carpool situation so everyone gets home in one piece. Jacob pulls Jeanne back and for a second, until they're the last ones left in the room.

"What's wrong?" Jeanne asks.

"Nothing," Jacob says. "I just…"

How long have they been together? Longer than Jeanne has been alive. She holds Jacob close against her, and Jacob snakes her arms around Jeanne's waist, and they just rest against each other for a minute.

"I wish I could bring you home with me," Jacob whispers. "I love sailing—"

"I know you love it," Jeanne agrees.

"But it's lonely," Jacob says. "I wish you were there."

Jeanne squeezes a little bit tighter.  "I love you."

"Love you too."

Eventually James comes barging back in. " _ Finally _ ," he says. "Seriously, you guys, you can do that at home—everyone's waiting for you!"

"Well, I'm sorry I'm not kissing my wife quickly enough for you," Jacob says.

"And I accept your apology," James says, so grandly that both women burst out laughing. He grins and drops the act. "But seriously, are you coming or not?"

"Coming," Jacob says. She and Jeanne step away from each other, and Jeanne smiles as her fingers slide over Jacob's shiny new wedding band. She remembers seeing it on the hand of a much older Jacob—not that she'd understood at the time why it was so important.

"Oh, Jeanne—" James frowns. "Someone's looking for you."

"Who?" Jeanne asks.

"Some woman?" James says. "I dunno, she looks like she works here."

"Oh," Jeanne says. "Thanks, James, I'll go track her down."

"Just do it  _ fast _ ," James complains, before he and Jacob head back to the waiting fleet of cars. Jeanne smiles, watching them go.

She's still smiling thirty seconds later when she finds the stony faced woman wandering the halls, apparently looking for me.

"Oh," the woman says. "So you're her."

Something about her tone rubs Jeanne the wrong way—but she stamps down the impulse to make an excuse and leave. Instead, she holds out her hand. "I'm Jeanne," she says. "Yes. I heard you were looking for me?"

The woman nods and takes her hand. "Yes," she says. And then her other hand whips out something that looks like a baton, and before Jeanne has half a chance to react, the stick is clamped against her side, sending jolts of electric pain through her body. Jeanne cries out in shock and pain but there's a second person here, a larger man, and when he holds his hands over her mouth it muffles her screams completely. There's a knife in Jeanne's boot—she can't reach it but she doesn't need to. The knife is built right in, and if she twists her leg like so…

She kicks out with the last of her fading strength, straight backward, and is rewarded by the feeling of her blade slicing through the man's leg. He falls back a step but the electricity still arcing through Jeanne's body means she can't keep herself upright without his hand on her. She falls backward with a thump, and her head hits the floor so hard she sees stars.

Then the blackness comes, and for a long time, Jeanne sees nothing at all.


	25. Chapter 25

James finds Rory pacing in the basement training room, and the look on his face is death warmed over, he's shaking like a leaf. This is new and different and James has no idea what he's supposed to do here. This isn't kissing Rory on the roof during dinner because it's fun and dangerous (and sexy). Is he supposed to say something here? Do something? Will Rory want him to? He seems lost, and James thinks that an actual boyfriend would be there to comfort him.

Rory doesn't seem to have noticed James is standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching him. He's just pacing and pacing, back and forth, back and forth, like he's too worried to just stand still. And James thinks—fuck it, maybe he has no idea what he and Rory are to each other, but Rory's done an amazing job of alienating almost everyone else in the safehouse. If James doesn't do something, maybe no one else will either.

"Rory?" he says. His voice is softer than he wants it to be, and Rory either doesn't hear him or just ignores him. James tries again. "Rory!"

There's still no answer, so James steps forward and grabs at Rory's elbow. He'd only meant to stop Rory in his relentless pacing, but Rory reacts with a vicious kind of suddenness, twisting James's arm back behind his back and turning him just  _ so _ , and then his hidden blade is on James—

Just for a second, James can feel the weight of cold metal against his neck, and then Rory half sobs and takes two steps back, away from James. Then he shakes his head and throws himself back at James. This time there's no steel, and James does his best to hold Rory as he cries.

"I'm sorry," Rory says, through tears. "I just reacted."

"It's okay," James says, because what else is he supposed to say, really?

"No it's not," Rory insists. "I know you're not a Templar, but I saw you there, and I was thinking about Jeanne, and I just…" he trails off into a sad sounding mumble.

"This might not be the right time to bring this up," James says. "But, uh—I am actually a Templar, Rory."

"No," Rory says. The word is wet and miserable, almost petulant. " _ No _ , don't say that. You can't really be one of them. You're too nice, you're…. good."

"Well, thanks," James says. "But…" he sighs. This isn't exactly the best time to argue with Rory. He's pretty bad at listening to other people even at the best of times, and today has been a bad day. Maybe what Rory really needs right now is someone to hang onto, and James can do that without arguing for a while. Still, he can't stay silent for long. After a minute or so, he says, "But you always argue with Jeanne. Always. I thought…. Because she's a Templar…"

"She's my little sister," Rory says. "I can fight with her, but I  _ have  _ to protect her from everyone else."

"You will," James says, trying to sound as encouraging and upbeat as physically possible, considering they don’t know who took Jeanne or why. "Your parents would know if she just vanished when she was twenty or whatever, right?"

"Maybe history can be changed," Rory says.

"Well… maybe it can," James allows.

"Maybe they'll kill her," Rory says. "And then—she's visiting from a few years farther in the future than I am. Maybe I'll have to just spend the next few years waiting for her to vanish and never come back. You can't tell me it's  _ impossible  _ that they'll kill her."

"Of course it's impossible," James says. "Seriously, do you understand how far every single person in this house is willing to go to save someone they care about?"

"How far?" Rory asks

"As far as they need to," James says. "Up to and including making really stupid deals with precursors, like Uncle Jacob did."

Rory half laughs, which makes James grin. "I think we should try and find a different way to save her," Rory says.

"Probably," James agrees. "I don't think my dad wants to be body snatched again." He feels Rory's fingers reaching for his, and he's more than happy to hold on tight. They stay like that until Elena comes down, looking for one or the other of them. She stops a few feet away, and James can only imagine how surprised she must be to see them both together. Hugging. He can't meet his sister's eyes for more than a second or two before his face turns red, and his eyes are pulled downward like they've just been magnetized to the floor.

"Hey," she says. "Um… we're all upstairs, trying to figure out what to do about getting Jeanne back. If either of you wants to be a part of that."

"Yea," Rory says, stepping back and wiping his eyes. "Yea… definitely." He trudges away ahead of them, which leaves James alone with Elena.

"So," she says. "Do you want to tell me what was just going on, or…?"

James opens and closes his mouth several times, then shakes his head and hurries up after Rory. Sure enough, everyone in the safehouse is crammed onto the first floor, mostly in the living room but spilling into the kitchen and the dining room as well. It's a bit of a mess, but not as bad as it could have been. Mostly, people seem to be listening to each other. James makes his way around the edge of the crowd and sits down next to Grace.

"Where were you?" she whispers, as Shaun drones on about some assassin intelligence that might or might not have been related to Jeanne's kidnapping.

"Doesn't matter," James mutters. And for the rest of the meeting he tries not to think about Grace's badgering, or how absolutely miserable Rory looks where he's standing next to Aveline, or how he can feel Elena's eyes practically boring a hole in the side of his head.


	26. Chapter 26

They're all very polite, which in some ways is worse than if they'd been cruel or abusive. Jeanne knows enough people that have been kidnapped to have some idea of what to expect. Only a brief confrontation with the woman that had kidnapped her in the first place (a woman named Elina who seems about as angry at the world as Rory is) had been at all hostile.

Elina had shouted for a while after Jeanne woke up— _ mostly  _ about things Jeanne doesn't understand, the same way she doesn't understand a lot of what goes on in this time—and eventually someone had come in to interrupt. Elina had been told off and sent away, and then Jeanne was untied and led to a far nicer area than the storage area she'd woken up in.

A Templar symbol looks down at her from one wall of the library; the Abstergo logo is just next to it. The room is nice, and looks a bit like a library. Not the kind that's actually used, but the kind some people with too much money use to show how smart they think they are. Jeanne takes in the bookshelves lining the walls, and the thick, bland colored books lined up neatly on each shelf. None of them looks like they've ever been opened, and Jeanne catches herself imagining what Marcello would say if he saw this room. She wishes he was visiting her now. Or that anyone was, really. Jeanne does her best to hide it, but she's more afraid of this separation from her visitors than she is of her kidnappers. They don't know where she is. They can't visit her. She really is on her own.

Well, that's okay. Jeanne is more than capable of figuring a way out of this on her own. And then she'll figure her way back to her visitors—back to Jacob.

Jeanne paces the room as a pair of men the same age as her father ask question after question. They want to know about visitors. About how they travel from one time to another, and why so many of them are here in this time. And of course Jeanne really doesn't know the answers to any of those questions, so staying quiet is easy. It would have been easy anyway, of course, because Jeanne would rather die than tell them what they want to know. But genuine naiveté helps.

Her two interrogators don't seem at all perturbed by this. They keep explaining that they're Templars (maybe they think Jeanne doesn't understand this, and if they just explain enough times, she'll change her mind about talking to them). Be reasonable, they tell her more than once. As if they're not the ones that had ordered her kidnapped from her wedding.

Jeanne waits until they've gotten bored of her silence and her relentless pacing. Then, when she sees they're no longer paying as much attention to her as they should have been, she moves.

She punches the first one so hard she hears a rib crack, and the man doubles over with a gratifying shout of pain. His friend manages to stand halfway out of his seat before Jeanne turns and kicks him down to the floor. She doesn't kill him, but he whimpers in fear anyway as she searches his pockets. The man carries a ring of keys (Jeanne takes these), a thick wallet (she takes the cash but leaves the credit cards), and a cell phone (Jeanne messes with it for a second, but it has a passcode she doesn't have time to guess, so she tosses it away).

That's all she needs to break out of the room, charge down hallways full of guards, and escape into the relative anonymity of a bustling, twenty first century street. A handful of guards chase her for half an hour or so, but Jeanne loses them without too much trouble. The compound's obviously stretched thin on guards, and the ones they do have are inexperienced. Probably because everyone back at the safehouse is so committed to bringing Abstergo down…

Right. The safehouse. Jeanne has no idea where it is, how to get in contact with them, or what to do to fix that. She doesn't even know where she is, honestly. Maybe the safehouse is right down the street; maybe it's on the other side of the country. Not that knowing where she is would help with that—the safehouse is well hidden, and Jeanne doesn't know an address or phone number she could use to get in contact with her friends. She has no way at all of contacting them and telling them where she is, or asking them for help.

It doesn't matter, Jeanne decides. She picks a direction at random and starts walking. She'll get home. She knows she will. Because her dad is waiting, her brother, even Jacob, even her wife—they're all right there. Waiting for her.

_ Damn  _ Abstergo for kidnapping her. Damn them. But Jeanne's not going to sit around waiting to be rescued. She'd broken out already, now she just has to stay one step ahead of Abstergo, and stay free. She knows she can do it. She's strong.

And so she starts her journey home.


	27. Chapter 27

Geraldine is there at the wedding, of course, so she knows about Jeanne's kidnapping. But she'd be useless in the rescue, and she really can't afford to miss any more work. She'd slipped out when everyone else was talking about which base Abstergo was probably holding Jeanne in, and no one had noticed her go.

There's a little fluttery feeling of guilt in her stomach all the way back to her lonely apartment. But she's a scientist, not an assassin. Not anymore, not for a long time. She couldn't have helped, even if she'd stayed there and tried. And there are more than enough people there to help Jeanne get out. It's not like rescuing kidnap victims is a new experience.

Somehow, none of this makes Geraldine feel any less guilty for leaving. She doesn't sleep at all Sunday night, and when she shows up for work Monday morning, she's tired and miserable, not at all her usual sharp, observant self.

Maybe that's why she doesn't notice there's someone waiting in her office right away. Geraldine is halfway through taking off her coat when someone says "Hey," and Geraldine jumps half out of her skin. She spins around, undignified in her surprise, and for a second thinks she's hallucinating from lack of sleep.

"Jeanne?"

"Surprise." Jeanne looks as tired as Geraldine, and her smile is weak.

"What are you—" Geraldine lowers her voice. "You're supposed to be kidnapped!"

"It didn't really stick," Jeanne says. Geraldine nods, numbly; she can't think of anything to say. Besides looking half dead from exhaustion, she's grimy and a little bit bruised. "I fought my way out," Jeanne says, which really explains a lot. Geraldine tries not to stare.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, finding her words at last.

"Well, the safehouse is a little hard to find," Jeanne says. "That's sort of the point, I guess, but… I didn't know how to get in contact with them. I'm still sort of new to this century…" she trails off.

"I know where they are," Geraldine says. "I can tell you how to get to them."

Jeanne very much looks like she wants to say yes. She's halfway through saying it when she abruptly shakes her head.

"You… don't want to go home?" Geraldine asks.

"I do," Jeanne says. "I do,  _ so  _ badly." She's almost shaking, and Geraldine remembers abruptly that Jeanne's only just gotten married. "But I think they're following me. I managed to shake them when I got into town, but I know they'll be watching the roads out and they'll pick up my trail as soon as I try to leave. I can't lead them straight back to everyone else. I can't."

"Okay," Geraldine says. "But—you're sure they don't know you're here?"

"Sure as I can be."

"Okay." Geraldine's mind races. She's not an assassin, she's  _ so  _ not an assassin, she's a million leagues out of her depth right now. "Maman and Papa made sure I can't be connected back to them when I left home for school," she says. "I don't know what they did, or how, but they promised me Abstergo would never find me here. And I trust them."

Jeanne nods.

"So you're safe here for now. You just… can't get back to everyone else. But—listen. I can give you directions back to my apartment, and then you can have some food and a rest while I get in touch with everyone else and tell them you're safe. Then they'll come up with some way to get you safely home. Okay?"

Jeanne nods, and Geraldine turns to dig through her desk for a pen and paper so she can write out directions for Jeanne. She's still searching (why is it she can never find a pen when she needs one?) when she sees her boss appear suddenly in the doorway.

"Oh," he says, obviously startled to find Geraldine isn't alone. "You have a guest?"

"My sister," Geraldine says, because it's the first lie that comes to mind. A few seconds later, she remembers that it's not actually a lie at all. She wonders if she'll ever get used to Jeanne and Rory.

"I was just leaving," Jeanne says.

"Wait," Geraldine objects. "The directions—"

Jeanne shakes her head, and abruptly hugs Geraldine, who freezes in response. She's not exactly  _ against _ hugs, but she isn't quite as excited about them as some people in her family.

"Someone's coming," Jeanne whispers in Geraldine's ear, quietly enough for Geraldine to hear without her boss listening in. Geraldine jerks back an inch, startled and a little bit afraid, and sees Jeanne's eyes glinting gold with eagle vision. "Ten or twelve people. I want to get out of here before they connect me to you."

"But—"

"Tell everyone I'm okay." Jeanne briefly squeezes Geraldine tighter. "Tell them I got out, and tell them  _ I'm coming home _ . It might take a while, but I'll make it."

"I know," Geraldine says. There's a certain steel in her voice that makes it impossible to doubt her. She sounds strong, like their parents, like a force of nature. Stronger than Geraldine (the scientist,  _ not _ the assassin) will ever be. "I'll tell them."

Jeanne nods, steps away from Geraldine, and just like that, she's gone. Geraldine is itching to pull out her phone and call home right away, but her boss has a whole rant ready about some new client that's trying to set an impossible deadline, and how they'll all be working overtime for the next few weeks to meet it. Geraldine nods and hmms along and pays absolutely no attention until her boss is called away abruptly to deal with a problem somewhere else.

Geraldine waits long enough to really make sure he's gone before calling her mother. 


	28. Chapter 28

Rory is so relieved when Geraldine calls and tells them Jeanne is (relatively) safe, and free of Abstergo's clutches, that he kisses James right in front of everyone. It's not a  _ great  _ kiss, because James is too busy trying to figure out how he feels about the fact that pretty much everyone else is suddenly staring straight at them. He'd sort of liked the illicit feeling of their private kisses on the rooftop, and he's not at all sure that his mom is going to approve of him making out with the guy that punched him in the face the first time they met.

"I  _ told  _ you, Arno!" Uncle Jacob crows, into the sudden dead silence of the room. "You didn't believe me but I  _ toooooold  _ you."

"Right," Uncle Arno says. "Obviously I should have believed you when you told me the least likely pair in this safehouse were—uh."

"I don't think they're the least likely," Edward objects. "If I walked in on Altair sleeping with Grace, for example—"

Altair, Grace, and Haytham drown him out with immediate and nearly identical objections.

James suddenly realizes that Rory has stopped kissing him. "You're not okay with this," Rory says, with a kind of dawning horror in his voice. "I'm so sorry, I thought you wouldn't mind people knowing."

"I, um—" James doesn't really get embarrassed easily, but he's not entirely okay with the fact that most of the people in the room aren't even trying to pretend they're not eavesdropping. "I don't know how I feel about it. But I thought  _ you _ didn't want anyone to know you're kissing a Templar."

"I don't really see this as kissing a Templar," Rory says. He sounds so serious that James feels a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It makes him feel… special. Rory, the most Templar hating assassin that James has ever met, is capable of looking past James's allegiance and liking who he is, as a person. He kisses Rory back.

-//-

"He's not really a Templar," Rory informs his mother, when she's more or less dragged him away from the crowd and into the privacy of her room.

Mostly her room. Hers and the two Templars.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" she asks. She sounds just like she used to, when Rory was much younger, getting in trouble for hitting Philippe with his toy sword or arguing with Jeanne or Tomas.

"He's too… I don't know.  _ Good _ . Maman, he can't be a Templar. You can see that, right?"

"Rory—"

"I can change him," Rory presses on, determined. "I know I can. He's just confused because growing up in this house is enough to make  _ anyone  _ confused, but he's funny and nice, and—" Rory ducks his head so his mother won't see how he can't stop smiling when he talks about James. "He's just… beautiful. Inside and out. Someone like that can't  _ really  _ be a Templar, so I know I can make him change."

" _ Rory _ ." She grabs him by the shoulders, and she doesn't sound at all like she understands (which is just massively hypocritical, in Rory's opinion, because she's married to a Templar, and sleeping with two of them). Instead, she sounds angry. "This has to stop."

"But  _ you're  _ in love with two Templars!"

"This has nothing to do with who you want to love," she says. "If you and James have feelings for each other, I don't have any problem with what you choose to do while you're both in the same century. But you can't change the people you love."

"Maman—"

"James is a Templar," she says, loud and slow and very, very clearly. Rory flinches. "You  _ have  _ to accept that, if you truly care for him. Your father and I have been together through two lifetimes because we realized this very early on. You have to accept the decisions your partner makes. Even… especially when you don't agree."

"But…" Rory looks at her helplessly. "I wouldn't fall in love with a real Templar. So I know James can't be one. He's just… confused. If I can just make him  _ see _ …"

His mother shakes her head. "Fine," she says. "If you won't listen to my advice on how to make this work, then listen to this. Break up with James now. If you keep going as you are, not only will you never change him, I guarantee that things will end badly between you."

She's not _listening_. "I have to save him," Rory says. "I have to."

His mother gives him a cold, sad look before leaving the room.

-//-

Evie isn't entirely surprised when Aveline corners her later that evening. Everyone else is settling down for the night, and it's practically the only time two people can expect to speak in private.

"I didn't want to have to do this," Aveline says, after a few uncomfortable pleasantries. "But I think we need to talk about Rory and James."

"Yes," Evie says. "That was a surprise."

"No," Aveline says. "I mean—well, yes it was. But I wanted to ask if you would talk to James. You or Desmond, I suppose, but he's so uncomfortable around sex I thought it might be better to talk to you."

"What's wrong?" Evie asks. There's a little prickling feeling of concern itching at her skin now.

"Rory isn't good for James," Aveline says. She sounds quiet. Almost ashamed, Evie thinks. "He despises Templars. All Templars."

Evie thinks that if Rory's definition of despising Templars covers the things he'd been doing with James earlier, he might have a slightly too broad idea of the word  _ despising _ . "He seems to be making progress," she says instead.

Aveline shakes her head. "I spoke with him earlier," she says. "All he could talk about was making James an assassin. He's so convinced he can change who he is."

"I'll speak to him," Evie says. "But he's eighteen. He won't listen. And I won't forbid him from loving whomever he wants."

"It will end in tears," Aveline says.

"It probably will," Evie agrees. She thinks of long, wet days spent in the train hideout in her first life. Riding around and around London, crying like a child because her love for Desmond and her love for Henry were tearing her in two. "But some people are worth it."

-//-

"My maman doesn't think we should be together," Rory tells James late that night. They're curled up on a blanket on top of the roof, watching the sky while Rory tries to describe to James what it's like to see the stars without light pollution. James isn't exactly listening—he's thinking about what it means now that everyone  _ knows  _ about him and Rory. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Touching like this, all the time, not having to wait and hide before they kiss.

"Neither does mine," James agrees. "I think. She says it's up to me, but she didn't seem all that happy about it."

"Is that… are you going to…?"

"Who cares what anyone thinks?" James asks. "I like you."

"Do you?"

"Yea. Of course."

"I think I love you."

Yesterday, James wouldn't have known what to say to that. It's barely been three months since Rory hated him enough to punch him out, and until he met Rory, James wouldn't have believed things could change so quickly and completely. And anyway, there's something about knowing both of their moms think they're a terrible, doomed pair that really appeals to the part of James that likes kissing an assassin. And it's more than that. It's… it's just  _ Rory _ . The more time they spend together, the more James wants to be with him.

So he smiles. "Yea," he says. "I think maybe I love you too."

He's not sure if he does. There's something thrilling about Rory. About loving someone that hates everything he stands for. Loving someone no one else thinks he should be in love with, someone… someone that he'll never see again after this year is over…

There's really no time to waste, is there? Maybe this is what it feels like to fall in love and maybe it isn't, but they only have nine months left, and James doesn't want to waste any more time trying to untangle his fucked up feelings.

They have sex that night, right there on the roof. It's nothing at all like James always thought it would be, it's kind of awkward and cold (but maybe that's his own damn fault for losing his virginity _on a_ _roof_ ). But it's with Rory, and that makes up for a lot.


	29. Chapter 29

Elena is halfway out the door when Grace comes running up to her, slips out the door, and calls, "Shotgun!"

"Are you coming, then?" Elena asks, following Grace out. Matthew's already waiting there, and Grace smiles at him.

"You don't mind if I come with," she says. "Do you?"

"I—" he glances past Grace at Elena, who shrugs. "No?"

"Great," Grace says. "I still have shotgun."

"What's shotgun?" Matthew hisses at Elena when she gets within earshot.

"Front passenger seat," she whispers back. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into her—do you want me to ask her to stay home?"

Matthew shakes his head. "No," he says. "That's alright. Maybe the groceries will go faster if there's three of us."

Maybe. But Elena had been looking forward to spending some time alone with Matthew. Everyone's spent the last few days frantically worrying about Jeanne, but now that they know she's safe and making her way home, it's like a weight's been lifted off the whole group. A grocery store isn't exactly a date, but it would have been just the two of them.

Grace is already waiting patiently in the front seat. Elena sighs and goes around to the driver's side.

-//-

"Are we okay with what Rory and James are doing?" Grace asks, when they're just about halfway to the store.

Elena glances at Matthew in the rearview mirror, but he's staring determinedly out the window, ignoring the conversation. "I'm not entirely sure it's any of our business," she says, slowly.

"I think it is," Grace says. "Rory doesn't care about peace between assassins and Templars. He's been a problem since he got here—"

"Grace," Elena objects, but Grace just raises her voice.

" _ No _ , Elena. I know you've known him longer, but you're not a Templar. He doesn't treat you the way he treats me, or Jeanne, or Papa or Dad. You can see it but you don't have to  _ feel  _ it. Rory hates Templars, and frankly it's going to save James a lot of hurt in the long run if I get them to break up now."

"Grace!"

"You can do that?" Matthew asks, looking over at her abruptly.

"Yea," Grace says. "Sure. That's pretty much what I do."

"Manipulate people?" Matthew asks.

"Resolve conflicts without killing people," Grace corrects.

"There's no conflict," Elena says.

"Not yet," Grace says. "Not until Rory decides to start hitting James again."

Elena hesitates. She's all in favor of Rory falling in love with James. It has to be a good sign, doesn't it? This has to be progress on the Rory hating all Templars front. But she doesn't want her little brother hurt again.

And then Matthew says, "She might be right. Rory can be… he's—stubborn."

"Hateful," Grace says.

"Maybe… if she can drive a wedge between them now, it wouldn't hurt them so much. Either of them. It's not something I'd think about for anyone else, but—"

Elena stops. She pulls over on the side of the road, puts the car in park and physically turns in her seat so she can see Grace and Matthew at the same time. "James and Rory are nobody's business but James and Rory," she says. "I  _ know  _ that Rory is terrible to Templars, and I  _ know  _ James is terrible at making good decisions but…" she bites her lip, thinking.

"But nothing," Grace says. "I'm not offering to do this because I want to hurt either of them. Rory's… technically my brother. I guess. And I like James."

"Then just leave them alone!" Elena says. The words burst out of her before she can think them through, and there's a sort of horrible pause while she tries to figure out where she's going with this.

"Elena," Matthew says softly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes! No—I don't know. But Rory has never actually killed a Templar."

"He's killed  _ plenty  _ of Templars," Matthew says. "I've helped him kill Templars."

"You know what I mean," Elena says. "He's never killed a Templar he knew personally. He's not going to kill James, and he's not going to hurt him."

"He'll break James's heart," Grace says.

"Then  _ that's  _ when we intervene," Elena says. "If it all ends in tears, then we'll be there for both of them. But… it's not our place to decide they can't be together." Matthew, at least, looks like he's coming around. Grace's face is still set in a stubborn frown. "Please, Grace?" Elena asks. "I know I can't stop you from doing what you want. But James is happy. And Rory is happy."

"For now," Grace says.

"Can't that be enough?"

Grace hesitates. "I want James to have a happy ending," she says, and the look in her eyes reminds Elena that Grace wasn't always a cool headed Templar agent. Once upon a time, she'd been a little girl who couldn't sleep without her princess dolls lined up next to her in bed.

"I know," Elena says.

"Rory isn't going to give him that," Grace says.

"Maybe he will. Maybe Rory is what James wants—or maybe he's what James needs right now. You never know."

"Okay," Grace says, after considering this for a long time. She melts back into her seat, and Elena turns her attention back to the drive. None of them says much until they get to the store, where the conversation is still a little awkward and stilted. Finally, when Grace is distracted looking for something else, Matthew takes Elena's hand (and it’s solid, it’s really there, and it gives Elena strength). After a long silence, Matthew just says, "Are you sure?"

She's not at all sure that things will end happily between them, no. But she's pretty sure they deserve a chance. "Yes."

"Good enough," Matthew says. They stand there, holding each other, waiting for Grace to come back. And the only thing Elena can think is that they have less than a year left. Less than a year until Rory leaves James behind forever, yes. And that’s good. But also less than a year until Elena will  _ never  _ get to hold Matthew's hand like this again. Suddenly, the visits she's counted on for her whole life just don't seem like they'll ever be enough.


	30. Chapter 30

Rory nearly leaves the room when he sees who's in it; he wanted to talk to Haytham but didn't expect to find him on the couch kissing Rory's own father. It's embarrassing to see the way Shay and Haytham are touching each other. It makes Rory uncomfortably aware of how he must look when he’s with James.

Rory's shoe squeaks, and Haytham practically bounces out of Shay's arms, jumping halfway across the couch as if he hadn't been practically in his fellow templar's lap. Haytham clears his throat, turning red, and Shay asks quietly, "What did you need, Rory?"

Rory is gaping almost too much to speak. He had known what his father gets up to with Haytham, of course. But to see them so openly enjoying each other's company still shocks him. And he's envious; even if he found some man to love in his own time, he could never kiss him in public. And he’s only going to have the rest of this year with James, and he’s not even sure how James feels about public displays of affection. "Uh..." he tries to remember what he came in for. "I need to...to talk to Haytham."

Shay exchanges a worried glance with Haytham. Elena had said Shay was very protective of Haytham after the latter's long illness caused by the Animus; Rory reflects that his father is probably worried that he intends to punch Haytham, too. "You can stay, Papa."

Haytham stares at him warily. "What is it, Rory? Is there something I can do for you?" They haven't talked since Rory yelled at him.

Rory sits in a chair and faces the floor. This is hard, to reveal weakness in front of two Templars. But if he doesn't, it'll just torment him forever. This year, he's decided, is a chance to answer some questions he's always had. And maybe he'll be able to stop having nightmares if he gets this off his chest. "I had a visit when I was little, and I wanted to ask you about it."

Haytham looks politely confused. "All right, I'll answer if I can."

Rory takes a deep breath. "I visited Jenny. An older Jenny. In the middle of a sword fight, and you were there."

Haytham stifles a gasp, and frowns. "But--I had no idea."

Rory nods grimly. "I can't talk to her about it now, because she hasn't gotten that old yet."

Haytham smiles sadly, but his eyes are tight with anger. "What do you need to know?" he asks. "I ask only that you tell my sister nothing that I tell you until she has experienced it for herself."

Rory tries several times to begin, and finally just blurts out, "Who was the Templar? The one that was holding Jenny?"

Haytham's frown deepens. "Reginald Birch. My father's friend, Jenny's fiancé, my Grand Master." He sighs. "At least he was before any of us knew of his treachery."

Rory hugs himself and seems to shrink--he's not a small man, but he looks like a frightened child. "He was trying to kill Jenny. Who could _do_ that? Her fiancé, at that!"

Haytham nods gravely. "He was a terrible man, and the world is better for his death."

"You said he was your Grand Master. What exactly does that mean?"

Haytham sighs. "He trained me. He gave me my rank. He raised me after he had my father killed."

Rory shudders and his eyes flick to Shay. He can't, he doesn't want to imagine what it must have been like for Haytham. His father dead and at the hands of his own friend? " _Why_?"

"You mean, why did he raise me? Nobody knew he'd had Edward killed. Nobody but Jenny, anyway." Haytham can't meet Rory's eyes. "And she was far away."

"Why did you stay a Templar after you knew?" Rory demands. "Why wouldn't you oppose everything the Templars stand for, as I do?"

Shay squeezes Haytham's hand reassuringly as he sighs. "Please try to understand. Everything I had, everything I was, was tied up with the Templar Order. If I left...well, and the Colonial Order that I founded, it was a good and noble Order." Haytham smiles at Shay. "For the most part, anyway."

Rory shakes his head. "How could you stand to wear the same ring as he wore?" He gestures to Haytham's hand.

Haytham examines his ring thoughtfully. "The ideals of the Order are not tarnished because Birch perverted them."

Rory groans. "But if so many Templars are so bad, doesn't that say something about those ideals?"

"No," Haytham tells Rory firmly. "Many, _most_ Templars are good people. Your father, your sisters, James--"

Rory flushes dark and mutters, "They're the exception. Look at Abstergo."

"No, Birch and Abstergo are the exceptions," Haytham insists. "I've built a good Order of good people in my first life and this one, and I hope that someday you can see it."

"Not likely," Rory mutters, stalking off.


	31. Chapter 31

Jenny will never get used to the plumbing of the future. Hot water, cold water, any temperature of water, at the turn of a knob. No jugs carried by enslaved women required. Fresh, clean water whenever you need it, enough to bathe in, which she does frequently. At first it was because she felt the sand still in every crease of skin, under her fingernails. She felt the dirty fingerprints of the man who used her, owned her. Try as she might, she couldn't scrub them off, even when her skin was spotlessly clean.

Now, though, the feeling has faded, and she soaks for hours to relieve muscles aching from her father's training, to wash away sweat from running, from climbing, from attacking training dummies or sparring with Edward.

There's several bathrooms in this safehouse, but they still get crowded in the mornings and evenings. So Jenny's taken to waking at 4am for a leisurely soak in the tub.

She's got the bath just right, a trickle of hot water keeping the temperature up, and she's half dozing when she hears the door open, and the unmistakable sounds of retching. Is it someone stumbling home after a late night of drinking? Her father, maybe? Carefully holding the shower curtain to preserve her modesty, she peers out.

It's not Edward. It's Elena crouched over the toilet, Elena wearing this century's skin-tight and abbreviated nightclothes. So she wasn't out partying, she was asleep or otherwise in the bed with Matthew.

Jenny grabs for her bathrobe and makes sure she's decent before stepping out of the tub. She runs to Elena's side and rubs her back as the horrible gagging noises continue. At long last, Elena finishes spitting out bile and last night's dinner and goes to rinse her mouth out. "Thanks, Jenny," she says hoarsely.

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" It's more of a statement, actually, than a question. Jenny has seen enough pregnancy in her fellow slaves, after all.

Elena shrugs and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "I could be," she says cautiously, but can't help the smile that plays at the corners of her mouth.

"Hmm," Jenny says noncommittally, staring at her feet. She's never been pregnant--she's obviously barren--and she wouldn't want her captor's child anyway, but Elena's soft happiness stirs something hot and jealous in her heart.

What must it be like, to have that sort of hope? To look _forward_ to something like Elena seems to look forward to pregnancy? For that matter, what's it like to _make love_ instead of the regular torture of Jenny's captivity? To feel cherished, treasured, and happy instead of shameful and dirty?

Jenny looks away, blinking, unable to bear Elena's smile any longer. They're visitors, they're as close as sisters, and yet Jenny's existence is the antithesis of Elena's meaningful, love-filled life, and the sheer unfairness of it all burns like hot coals in her stomach. She bites back her tears and summons a grimace of a smile. "I'm happy for you and Matthew," she not-quite-lies.

"Thanks." Elena gives her a hug. "You can go back to your bath if you like. I'm going to go lie down."

"All right," Jenny says with false cheer. Once Elena's brushed her teeth and left the bathroom, Jenny sinks back into the tub and cries silently until someone comes and bangs on the door impatiently.

It's not fair.


	32. Chapter 32

Elena tells her mom first. She really wants to tell her dad, but it somehow seems right that her mother will be the first person to learn that Elena will soon be a mother herself.

She still can't get over the excitement of that— _ she's going to be a mother _ . It had seemed so impossible six months ago, so ridiculously out of reach, that Elena still can't quite believe it's real. It sends a shiver all the way through her, every time she thinks about it.

Elena goes to her mom's house to drop the news. It's been two days since she knew for sure. Two days since she’d told Matthew they're going to have a baby. He'd been… less than enthusiastic about the news. She'd told him, he'd nodded, face unreadable, and congratulated her. They haven't spoken of it since, and Elena is desperate to tell someone that will be as excited as she is.

Her mom hugs her tight when Elena gets there, and Elena hugs her back with enthusiasm. They don't get to see each other nearly often enough. Her mom leads her inside, and Elena sits at the kitchen table while her mom offers food. Then, when Elena feels she's absolutely going to burst with the effort of keeping the news inside her, her mom sits down as well and says, "You look excited about something."

"I am," Elena says. "I had some good news lately."

"Anything you can talk about?" her mom asks. "Or is it assassin business?"

"I'm pregnant," Elena says.

Her mom makes this excited, happy squealing noise and jumps out of her seat to hug Elena all over again. Elena clings to her and closes her eyes, and almost cries. She's so relieved to finally be able to tell someone, and have them share her excitement. Her mom asks a million questions (When is the baby due? Have you been to the doctor yet? You  _ are  _ taking care of yourself, aren't you?) and then frowns, just a little.

"Matthew's the father," she says. "Isn't he?"

"Yea," Elena says.

"Hmm," her mom says. "And he's… going back to his time at the end of the year.  Isn't he?"

 

"Yes," Elena admits. "But it doesn't really matter."

"He has a responsibility to—"

"He didn't want a kid," Elena admits. "We knew when we started trying for one that he wouldn't be here after the end of the year."

"I'm going to go talk to him," Elena's mom says, and she actually stands up and takes a couple of steps toward the door. "He can't just—"

 

"Mom!" Elena says. "He doesn't have a choice, okay? Can't we just be excited about this for a little while? I haven't told anyone but Matthew yet, and I just… want to be happy for a while."

Her mom stares at her for a minute. Then, slowly, she nods and comes back to the table where she sits next to Elena and squeezes her hand. They spend the rest of Elena's visit looking at baby clothes online.

-//-

Matthew waits until he's alone with his father before breaking the news that Elena is pregnant. They're out of the safehouse, on one of the periodic excursions Matthew's father insists they take. He seems determined to show Matthew every good part of the twenty first century before his time there runs out, and normally Matthew really enjoys the outings.

Not today. He's stressed out and worried and he can tell it's got his father on edge too. Today they're at a restaurant. Sushi. Haytham had pulled Matthew aside beforehand and sternly warned him about the dangers of uncooked fish. Matthew's stomach is churning so badly with nerves that he wouldn't have eaten anything even without the warning, but it's nice that Haytham had thought of him.

"Matthew," his father says after ten minutes of awkward silence. "What's wrong?"

"We're having a baby," Matthew says. The words just slip out. Matthew's been rehearsing the best way to say it since Elena told him she's pregnant, but in the heat of the moment he can't remember any of it. "Elena's pregnant."

There's just a split second where his father is more excited than Matthew has ever seen him, and then that second passes.

"You're not happy about it," he says.

"I don't know what I am," Matthew says. "She really wants kids. We talked about it, and I agreed because… I thought it wouldn't actually happen, I guess. But it did, and she's… I've never seen her so happy. And I just keep thinking that kid is never going to meet me, and it might be better this way because maybe I don't even  _ want  _ to be a dad, and…" He trails off. His shoulders slump. "You're disappointed in me, aren't you?"

"No."

"But you wish I was more excited about this."

"No."

" _ Dad _ ."

"I could never be disappointed in you," his father says. "And I would never wish you were any different than you are. But I wish you could be here to watch your child grow up."

"I'll still visit Elena," Matthew says. "I'll see the child, I'll just… never…  _ know  _ them. I can't be excited. I can't  _ share  _ this with her. I don't even know if I want to be a father, and it wouldn't matter if I did. This is never really going to be my child."

For a long moment, his father looks like he's debating what exactly he wants to say.  "You come from a long line of unimpressive fathers that got it right in the end," he says. "You didn't know Edward in his pirating days, but he would have been a terrible father at that point. But I know you must have seen how fiercely he cares for my father and aunts now."

Matthew nods, reluctantly. His father continues.

"My father and I were at odds for many years," he says. "But we've finally figured out how to get along, and I'm glad. And I lost you and your sister, because I lied to your mother and wasn't careful enough around you."

Matthew glances down at his left hand with its missing finger. He'd lost it so long ago that he rarely thinks of it anymore. He certainly doesn't blame his father.

"But—" His father clears his throat. "You came back. And I like to think we have a good relationship. Do you agree?"

"Yea," Matthew says. "Of course, Dad."

"Then listen to me," his father says, and he suddenly sounds absolutely certain. "I'm sorry you can't feel excited about this. I understand why it's difficult. But trust me, Matthew, you have it in you to be a great father."

"I wish…" Matthew sighs and buries his head in his hands. "I  _ really  _ wish I could have a chance to test that. I'd probably be a terrible dad, and I still don't know if I'd like it. But Elena's  _ so  _ excited, and it's just… it's making me wish things were different."

His father reaches over the table and puts a comforting hand on Matthew's shoulder. "Don't give up just yet," he says.

-//-

After telling her mom, Elena decides she doesn't want to wait any longer to tell everyone at the safehouse. But before she just goes ahead and tells everyone, she wants to tell her dad.

She finds him and Evie together in their room. They're trying to clean out some old junk from some of the doors, and bickering good naturedly about what to get rid of. Elena hesitates in the doorway, and after about thirty seconds her dad turns around and sees her.

"Elena!"

"Hi, Dad." She steps forward into his one armed hug.

"How's Lucy?"

"Mom's fine," Elena says. "Great. But Dad, listen, there's something I want to tell you."

"Good news or bad news?" he jokes.

" _ Great  _ news." She glances at Evie, and almost hesitates. She'd been planning to tell her dad alone—but then she decides this is probably good. There's something she's been planning to ask Evie anyway.

"Care to share?" Evie asks. She tries to surreptitiously add a pile of old T-shirts to the pile of things they're giving away. Elena's dad notices and pulls them back out, and Elena watches the way they look at each other, and something in her aches for Matthew.

"Dad."

"Yea?"

"Maybe you want to sit down for this," Elena suggests, and he does, still smiling but slightly confused now. "Dad."

"Elena?"

 

"I'm going to have a baby."

It's a good thing she'd asked him to sit, because he almost falls over as it is. Then for a minute he's so excited he can't even get a single coherent word out, and Elena just sits there grinning like an idiot.

"Congratulations," Evie says, while Desmond is still trying to get his excitement under control. "That's great news, Elena." And, to Elena's surprise, Evie hugs her too.

"Thank you," Elena says. "And there's actually something I wanted to ask you."

"Me?" Evie asks.

"Yea," Elena says. "I've sort of been thinking about it, and… you don't have to say yes, but I'd really like it if my child could call you Grandma. Not—I mean, you wouldn't replace my mom, obviously, but Dad's going to be the kid's Grandpa, and I just—" she grins. "The kid would be lucky to have you as an extra Grandma."

"I'd be honored," Evie says.

"You're having a  _ baby _ !" her dad says, as he regains his grasp on the English language.  And after that, everything is excited chaos. Within an hour, the whole safehouse knows.

-//-

Matthew doesn't get to bed until after midnight—he'd stayed out late with his father, and come home to a safehouse full of people giving him congratulations he doesn't think he deserves. He's fully expecting Elena to be asleep by the time he crawls into bed next to her, but she's still half awake.

"I was waiting for you," she says, through a yawn. "Matthew, I'm sorry everyone knows about the baby. I should have talked to you first, but we agreed we'd tell our parents, and Dad was just so excited…"

"It's okay," Matthew says. "You have every right to be excited."

"Are you excited?" Elena asks.

"I don't know. I'm… confused. And a little bit sad."

Elena nods, and shifts closer to him in bed. Matthew can feel her, against him, and he puts his hand where the baby is growing. He feels heavy and solemn. "Will you tell the baby about me?" he asks.

Elena curls her hand over his, over the baby. "All the time," she promises.


	33. Chapter 33

Nine months into their future visit, Darim wakes up to a cell phone vibrating awkwardly on his stomach. He sits up blearily, blinking back sleep, and then nudges Marcello awake. "Hey," he says. "Your phone's ringing."

"No," Marcello mumbles. His head is squished between Darim's arm and his side, and his face is pressed into their pillow. It cannot possibly be a comfortable position to sleep in, but Darim has seen Marcello in weirder arrangements. "Tell 'em it's too early."

"Why did you leave your phone on my stomach?"

"I was reading this article last night…" Marcello wiggles sideways so at least his face isn't buried in the bed anymore. Darim can actually hear him clearly now, which is a nice bonus. "And I was using you as a pillow—"

"I vaguely remember something like that."

"And then I guess I fell asleep?" Marcello goes on. "So I didn't get to finish the article…"

He swipes the phone out of Darim's hand, and Darim rolls his eyes. "Are you going back to it  _ now _ ?" he asks.

"Well it was interesting—"

Darim sighs. "You're the worst at mornings," he grumbles, but it's Marcello, and there's no changing Marcello.

"Oh!"

"Ow!"

"Sorry." Marcello gets his elbow out of Darim's face and sits up. "Elena texted me."

"What's she saying?" Darim asks.

"Huh?" Marcello looks back at his phone, then grins. "Oh, right. She's pregnant."

" _ Pregnant?" _

"With a baby," Marcello says, unhelpfully.

"Why didn't you tell me right away?" Darim demands. "Marcello! That's great news."

"Woo hoo, babies," Marcello says without any kind of enthusiasm whatsoever. He's never made a big secret of his complete lack of interest in being a dad. All things considered, it's probably a good thing he doesn't want children. Darim has no idea where he'd  _ get  _ them from.

On the other hand, of course, it's Marcello. If he decided to have a baby, he'd figure out a way.

"You don't want babies, do you?" Marcello asks abruptly. Apparently, his thoughts have been running along the same general line as Darim’s.

"What?"

"It's just… we never talked about it," Marcello says. "And if you wanted one, I'd want one too. Why haven't we ever talked about it?"

"Because it's not actually an option," Darim says. "If I did want a baby, I'd want to bring it up with you."

Marcello's face turns a pleased pink, and for a long while he is silent, thinking. Darim lets his own mind wander, and he's just starting to think about breakfast when Marcello derails his train of thought.

"So if I traveled through time to get to you, would you have my babies?"

"I—wait, why am I having the babies?"

"You would be a really attractive pregnant man," Marcello says, with absolute seriousness.

Darim stares at him. There are days when he  _ almost  _ thinks he understands what's going on in Marcello's head, and then something like this will happen and he remembers why he really doesn't  _ want  _ to understand.

"Hey, Darim," Marcello says. "I'm serious! Would you have my babies?"

Darim sighs and resists the temptation to roll his eyes. "Yes," he says flatly. "If you figure out how to move yourself three centuries into the past and then impregnate me, I will have your babies."

" _ Yes _ ," Marcello says, like he's just won some kind of major victory. "I'm going to make it happen."

"Sure you are," Darim says. He gives Marcello a little push so that he slides off the bed. "Go put your pants on."


	34. Chapter 34

Jeanne's homecoming is a triumphant affair. She's tired and a bit battered, but she's finally managed to lose the Abstergo agents chasing her, track down the address of the safe house, and make it back.

By this point, it's been a few months. Hard months, at the beginning. There had been nights spent on the street, one or two in homeless shelters, and an endless, pounding fear that she might be caught before the next morning. But that hadn't happened. She's home, or almost home, almost back with her father and her mother, with her brother, with her Jacob.

_ God _ , but she is overdue for her wedding night.

The only obstacle left standing between her and home now is rush hour traffic, and compared to Abstergo that's nothing at all. Jeanne's used to it by now anyway, she drives quite a bit these days. She'd stolen a pickup truck early during her run from Abstergo, and after an only slightly traumatic learning experience, she's quite liked having it. A truck's not quite as nice as sailing with Papa (what is?), but it's much better than a sore rear end from riding a horse cross country.

She's going to have to go back to that in a few months. And that's mostly good. The nineteenth century is her home. She has friends there, and family. She has the Templars, important work that needs to be done. But it'll be strange to go back.

Jeanne's not going anywhere anyway—traffic is stop and go, with much more stop than go—so she tilts the rearview mirror toward her and spends a few seconds studying her own reflection. She's wearing modern clothes, of course, she wouldn't be able to keep a low profile without them. But they're comfortable now, they feel like  _ hers _ . And she's cut her hair, partly to hide from Abstergo and partly just because she can. Women in her time don't typically cut their hair this short, and Jeanne quite likes the change.

Still. The hair, the clothes, the glasses (she doesn't have the  _ best  _ eyesight, and she doesn’t trust herself to drive without them), they make her look like a different person. Strange. But maybe she'll feel more like herself when she's back with her family.

As if on cue, the cars in front of Jeanne start moving. Her heart races with excitement (she's going home  _ she's going home _ ), and she fiddles with the mirror again and gently steps down on the gas. Fifteen minutes, if traffic doesn't slow down again. A quarter of an hour to go, and she'll be home.

-//-

The house looks exactly the same as Jeanne remembers. She pulls the truck into the driveway, and before she's even pulled the key out of the ignition there's someone coming out to investigate. It's James.

"No solicitors!" he shouts across the yard at her. "We're not buying anything!"

"I'm not a solicitor," Jeanne shouts back. She gets out of the truck and James stares uncomprehendingly for a second.

"Jeanne?" he says doubtfully.

She beams.

"You're not dead!" he says, with an  _ almost  _ insulting amount of surprise. Then he sticks his head back in the house, and Jeanne can hear him shouting for everyone else to come down and welcome her home. In less than a minute the yard is just absolutely packed full of people, and Jeanne's been hugged so much and so tightly that she can barely catch her breath.

Her parents are visibly relieved to see her back (although her mother shakes her head sadly at Jeanne's short cropped hair). Rory doesn't say anything, but Jeanne catches him eyeing her anxiously from the edge of the crowd, looking for any obvious signs of injuries. Jeanne smiles hugely at him. They fight more or less constantly, but he's still her older brother, and Jeanne knows he cares deeply for her. He'll never admit it, but he doesn't have to.

Her visitors are all there, all of them, but as soon as Jeanne sees Jacob, she's the only one that matters. This is Jeanne's  _ wife _ , and it's been months since they've seen each other, and it's just like all of a sudden the unfairness of being kidnapped on her wedding day comes surging up inside her.

She runs to Jacob, excitement bursting like fireworks inside her, and she knows nothing else for quite a while.

-//-

The two of them end up in bed, of course. They don't talk much for a while, they're too busy with other things. But eventually Jeanne finds herself curled against Jacob, touching just to remind herself that this is real. She's finally home. "So," she says. "What have I missed while I was gone?"

"Well, I hope you missed me," Jacob says, and Jeanne laughs and kisses her.

"Of course I missed you," she says. "But I meant what's been going on?"

"Nothing much," Jacob says.

"Really?" Jeanne says. "I've been gone for  _ weeks _ . I really expected some kind of drama."

"Well, Elena's pregnant."

"Is she?"

"Yea. I don't think I've seen her so happy since she escaped Abstergo."

"Good for her," Jeanne says, violently pushing down the surge of unreasonable jealousy. She's long since resigned herself to a life without children—even in this century, it's impossible.

Jacob makes a little humming noise of agreement. "Oh," she says, in a falsely casual tone that Jeanne doesn't buy for a second. "And your brother's sleeping with James."

Jeanne makes an incoherent babbling noise of absolute surprise that sends Jacob into a fit of laughter. " _ My  _ brother?" Jeanne demands. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Rory?"

_ "Yes!" _

"Not, like… some other brother that I don't know about?" Jeanne presses. "Maybe my parents had a son in this century that they forgot to introduce me to? Some brother that doesn't completely hate Templars?"

"Rory is sleeping with James," Jacob says again. "I swear it's true."

"So… so, James isn't really a Templar, then? He'd never sleep with a Templar."

"He is."

Jeanne gapes at her.

"I love your face when you're surprised," Jacob says fondly. "I've really missed you, Jeanne."

"But— _ really _ ? Rory is—"

"What about you?" Jacob interrupts. "What have you been doing, apart from running for your life? Geraldine said she saw you once, but that was weeks ago."

"Right," Jeanne says, trying to pull her scattered thoughts back together. "Well, eventually Geraldine managed to pass along the address of this place, but I couldn't get here right away, not without leading Abstergo straight here. So I traveled around a lot—don't get me wrong, I'd much rather have been here with you. But I saw some  _ amazing  _ things on my own. Especially once I started to feel a little more comfortable with this century."

"Oh yea?"

"I taught myself to drive," Jeanne says. "That's a pretty amazing feeling. I went to a history museum and every single thing in there was younger than I am. And I voted. I forged some ID and voted in like… four different states' primary elections."

"Jeanne!" Jacob protests, laughing.

"What?" Jeanne says, but she's laughing too. "This is my country too, isn't it? I want to vote, and I'm damn well going to vote in the actual election in November when that comes around."

"I don't think you're supposed to vote in more than one primary," Jacob insists.

"Well, I'll never get to vote in any election in  _ our  _ century," Jeanne says. "I'm just… making up for it now."

"Well, who'd you vote for, then?"

Jeanne grins. She feels like she's been smiling all day, like maybe she'll never stop. "I think that'd be telling."

Jacob grins too. It looks like she's going to say something, but the words die unspoken and the grin falls away and for a long, long while she just… stares at Jeanne.

"What?" Jeanne says, when the silence has stretched on long enough to get uncomfortable. "Is there something wrong, or—"

"No," Jacob says quickly. "Sorry, I just…"

Jeanne touches her shoulder. "Jacob?"

"It's silly," Jacob says, voice shaking. "But it just hit me all over again. You're back. You're here, and I missed you so, so much…"

"I'm here now," Jeanne says. "And I'm staying for the rest of this year. Here. With you."

"I know—"

"Preferably right here in this bed," Jeanne adds, which startles Jacob into laughing a little. They go back to holding each other tight like they'll never let go. After a few minutes, though, Jeanne pulls back and says, “Really?  _ Really _ , Rory’s sleeping with--”

“Oh just shut up and kiss me,” Jacob says impatiently, and Jeanne decides that she’d really like to do exactly that.


	35. Chapter 35

Marcello is lying flat on his stomach in bed, iPad propped up on the pillow in front of him, studying something with a single minded intensity that Darim has come to dread. He used to love that expression, because it was so overwhelmingly  _ Marcello _ . But—it also used to be an expression Marcello used when he was looking at Darim.

"Hey," Darim says. He feels uncomfortable, like he's interrupting Marcello.

"Hmm?" Marcello asks. He doesn't look up.

"I thought we could do something today," Darim says.

"Yea?"

"Yea."

An awkward silence stretches between them. Darim feels something twist inside his stomach, because  _ it's happening again _ . "Cello?" he says.

"Yea," Marcello says. "What?"

"Will you please just look at me?" Darim says.

Marcello rolls over and looks at him, face all scrunched up in confusion. "What's wrong?" he asks, and Darim can't resist sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. Just to be closer.

"Are we breaking up?" he asks.

"I hope not," Marcello says, voice suddenly alarmed. "Why—"

The twisting fear in Darim's gut eases. Just a little. "Everyone else is having sex," he says. "Matthew and Elena are having a baby, and Jeanne and Jacob are married. And what are we doing?"

"Darim…"

"We've barely spoken in two weeks," Darim says. "I feel like I'm competing with… with that thing." He gestures disdainfully at the iPad. "I  _ hate  _ that thing, Marcello."

"No!" Marcello says. He scrambles to sit up and clutches at Darim. "Don't be angry, Darim, I didn't mean to ignore you. I'm doing something really important."

"More important than us?" Darim asks. "Marcello, this is the only year together we're  _ ever  _ going to have. But I've spent more time with your dad the past couple weeks than I have with you."

"Ew," Marcello says.

"Not like that," Darim says dismissively. "It's just… I miss you, and he misses you…"

"Crap." Marcello doubles over, pressing a fist into his forehead. "Crap, crap,  _ crap _ , Darim—I didn't want…" he sighs. "Look, it was supposed to be a surprise."

"What was?"

"I don't want this to be the only year we ever have," Marcello says.

"Neither do I," Darim says. "But we're lucky to have it, and—"

"A-Team all got to live with each other after they died," Marcello says. "I think… no, Darim, I  _ know  _ I can do the same thing for us."

"What—you can bring us back?"

"Yea," Marcello says (like it's not completely and mind blowingly  _ impossible _ ). "I think so. But I have a ton of research to do, and this is the best chance I'm ever going to have to get that research done. I mean, this is five hundred years in the future for me. There's way more information about Pieces of Eden, and it's a lot easier to get ahold of it. Plus all of A-Team is here, and I can ask them questions when I need to."

"Oh," Darim says. "You're really—you're trying to… really? For us?"

"For all of us," Marcello says. "You and me, yea, but the rest of our visitors too. I want to wake up one day and know we're never going to be split up again."

"That's amazing," Darim says bluntly, and Marcello colors a little. "I'm sorry for doubting you, I—"

"No," Marcello says. "I can do both. I can do my research and not be a shitty boyfriend."

"You're not…" Darim sighs. "You've been a very  _ distracted  _ boyfriend."

"I'm not going to be distracted anymore," Marcello says.

"Yes you are."

"Well—okay, yea, probably. But not as much." He hesitates, and drops his voice like he's afraid of someone else hearing them. "This is harder than anything I've ever done before. I might fail, and if I do, then you're right. We only have this year. So I should never have ignored you the way I have been. Forgive me?"

Darim leans over and kisses Marcello. "Always."

Marcello grins, his whole face lighting up with a smile that means trouble. "Even if I do this?" he asks, and his hands on Darim are like lightning, they send shivers up his spine and straight into his skull, where they send up fireworks inside his brain.

"Yea," Darim says. " _ Especially _ if you do that."

They spend the rest of the afternoon in bed together, enthusiastically making up for the time they've wasted over the past few weeks. After, they lie curled up together, listening to the sounds of the rest of the house echoing around them. Darim can pick out thumps from a room nearby that sound like Rory and James going at it, apparently enjoying their early relationship sex  _ very  _ thoroughly. Or… come to think of it, the sounds might belong to Elena and Matthew, taking advantage of their own year together. Or maybe Arno and Jacob, making up for a whole wasted first lifetime. Or Shay and Aveline and Haytham? Darim never really appreciated how loud those three could be until he came to this century himself.

But he can also hear other noises. Edward and Adewale are bickering about something. Sounds like Adewale's trying to convince Edward not to do something stupid (good luck). Someone has made the mistake of calling for a Jacob without specifying which one they're looking for. Jenny and Connor have kitchen duty for the day, and they're clattering their way through making dinner. And on and on and on, Darim lets the sounds of their big, crowded house wash over him.

"This could be us," he says. "When you figure out how to bring us all back—this could be us all the time. Living together. And it would be  _ amazing _ ."

"I know," Marcello says. He's curled up against Darim's side, pressed in as close as he can get. He looks small. "Darim?"

"Yea?"

"Do you really think I can do it?"

"Yea," Darim says, because there really isn't any doubt in his mind. "Absolutely."

"Good," Marcello says. " _ Good. _ "


	36. Chapter 36

Matthew isn't sure how he feels about Elena being pregnant. They'd both thought it was impossible. Not something worth thinking about or preparing for, because it could never happen. But here she is, suddenly and impossibly carrying their child, and all Matthew can think is that it's really  _ her  _ child. In a few months he'll be gone, back to his own century, and he'll be the father to a son or daughter that will never even know his face.

He can tell his uncertainty bothers Elena, but Matthew is scared to bring it up and risk a fight.

"Come on," she tells him one day. "I have an errand to run."

"What kind of errand?"

"You'll see," she says. "I think… I hope you'll like it."

Matthew trusts her, so off they go. To a doctor's office, apparently. Elena refuses to tell him what they're there for, so Matthew pretends to read a magazine while Elena smiles and holds his hand.

"What are you so excited about?" he whispers. "I didn't think you liked doctors this much."

"You'll see."

"See  _ what _ , Elena?"

A doctor calls for Elena, and she pulls Matthew out of his seat. He's half afraid she'll just pull him down the hall in her eagerness if he argues, so he speeds up a little to keep pace with her. Then there's more sitting and waiting, and then Elena has a conversation with a doctor that Matthew mostly doesn't understand. He half wishes Marcello was with them; at least then Matthew would have someone to explain things to him.

"Look," Elena says abruptly. "Matty—"

He looks up at her, and then at the strange looking monitor showing a very low quality image. Matthew's been in this century just barely half a year, but he's gotten surprisingly used to high definition. At first he doesn't understand what the appeal of this grainy, black and white image is supposed to be.

"They're twins," she says. "The baby. Babies. We're having twins."

"What?"

She points again at the screen, and Matthew finally notices the way it's hooked up to her, and then he sees the pair of vaguely human shaped blobs in the blur of grays on the monitor.

"That's—really? Those are our…?"

“Oh,” the doctor says abruptly. “That's odd.”

“What?” Elena demands, and Matthew feels himself tense unexpectedly. 

“It's just...hmm.”

“ _ What?” _ Elena repeats, voice dangerous. 

“I'm sorry,” the doctor says. “I could have sworn I saw two shapes on the screen, but…”

Matthew looks again, and the streaky mess of shapes there have shifted a little. Sure enough, he can only pick out one vaguely human shaped blob. Odd.

They stare in silence for several long minutes, until the doctor interrupts with more medical jargon that Matthew just doesn't get. Hopefully Elena does—she seems to—because Matthew is suddenly and overwhelmingly afraid for her and the baby. How many women does he know of that died in childbirth?

The doctor finally finishes with Elena, shakes her hand and Matthew's, and sends them out with a pair of Congratulations. On the way back to her car, Elena squeezes Matthew's hand and says, "Just be happy."

"I am," he says. "I think."

"You're worried," Elena corrects. "Which is fine, I get it. There's plenty of things for you to worry about. But let's just be happy for now. Everything else will sort itself out; the important thing is that this baby is ours, and we are so lucky to get them."

Matthew looks at her, and notices at last the way she almost seems to be shining. Maybe she's right. They can figure everything else out later, but for now all Matthew cares to think about is that Elena is as happy as he's ever seen her. And that makes him pretty happy too.

The doctor gives Elena a printout of the ultrasound, and Matthew studies it all the way home. At one point he's pretty sure he can see the second shape they'd seen earlier, but when he points it out to Elena she says it doesn't look much like a person, and he says well no but neither does the other one, they both sort of look like blobs. They bicker good naturedly about how many babies they're having all the way home. 

That night, when the two of them are alone in bed, Matthew puts a soft, hesitant hand over the place where Elena's pregnancy is just beginning to show. He does the math in his head. Does it again. 

“This is the closest I'll ever be,” he says. “I'll never get to really meet...him or her or them. Whichever.”

“I'm sorry,” Elena whispers. She puts her hand over his. “I didn't think it would hurt you this much. If I'd known, I wouldn't have asked.”

“ _ I _ didn't know it would hurt me this much,” Matthew says honestly. “And I'm still glad the child's going to exist. Even if…” He trails off, then tries to laugh. “I don't suppose there's some magic 21st century technology that will let you give birth really early,” he says. “Like before I have to go.”

“No. I'm so sorry…”

“ _ Don't _ …” It must be his imagination, but he could have sworn he felt the baby kick. Matthew sighs. “You'll tell it about me,” he says. “Won't you?”

“Every day,” Elena says. “I promise.”

And they spend the rest of the night just silently holding each other, with the baby between them.


	37. Chapter 37

Rory doesn't even say anything before telling James, "We need to talk."

"Oh." He smiles to cover up his sudden nerves, and fidgets until he bangs his elbow on the wall next to him. They're in his tiny closet of a room today, which isn't much, but it's better than the room Rory shares with Darim, Marcello, and Matthew. "That means we're breaking up, doesn't it?"

"I hope not," Rory says. "But—listen, James, I want to… well, I think…"

He's nervous and stuttering, so James decides to diffuse the tension by sitting on Rory. It works, sort of, because Rory actually laughs. He gives James a half shove away, and after a few minutes of back and forth they end up pressed together on James's narrow bed. James takes a quick breath, then tilts his head forward to bury his head in Rory's shoulder. No matter how long B-Team spends in this century, they don't quite  _ smell  _ like other people. Or Rory doesn't, anyway, he smells like something far away and mysterious and different (and amazing).

Rory kisses James on the head. "Seriously, though," he says. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Sure," James says, without moving his head. "Go for it."

"Don't take this the wrong way."

"Take what the wrong—"

"I think you'd make a better assassin than a Templar."

James waits three beats, trying to find his voice, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest the whole time, hear it echoing inside his skull. Then he says, "No, I wouldn't."

Rory shifts a little, and pulls James toward him. James can feel Rory's arms all around him, and it strikes him suddenly that Rory isn't wearing his hidden blades. It should make him feel safer, but the conversation is an entirely different kind of danger. And not an exciting kind, like kissing Rory and knowing he could kill him at any time. This is a kind of danger that makes James feel distinctly uncomfortable. And unhappy.

James sits up, and Rory follows suit. "I thought you didn't care that I'm a Templar," James says at last. "I thought… you wouldn't be sleeping with me if you had a problem with it."

"But that's just it," Rory says. His voice is choked up with passion. "James!"

"Rory?"

"You're one of the most amazing people I've ever met," Rory says. "You're good. I trust you, I…" He pauses for a long time, but holds James tighter. "I love you. I know it can't last, I know it can only last a year, but I can't help the way I feel. I love you, James! And I know that you're good, so I know that you can't be a real Templar. You're one of the good guys, you're one of us."

"I'm a Templar," James says. "Rory—"

 

" _ No! _ "

He feels like he's falling. "I thought you didn't care, anymore."

"Well you thought wrong," Rory insists. "I've been waiting for this conversation since the first day we kissed."

"Oh," James says. "Great."

"James," Rory says, and suddenly his hand is tight around James's upper arm. "I'm serious. You're not a Templar."

James opens and closes his mouth several times. "You're hurting me," he says at last. His voice is hoarse. Rory doesn't let go, but James can feel his fingers wavering. He tries again. "Please, Rory, don't make a big deal out of this. It doesn't have to matter, and we only have a few months left. Please don't ruin everything."

"I'm not the one ruining things," Rory protests. "You're the Templar, not me."

"Rory!" It's like this isn't even the same Rory that James has fallen in love with over the past several months. For the first time in a long time, James remembers the version of Rory that had punched him in the face on the day they first met. He seems at least that irrationally angry now.

But James had been angry on that first day too, and he's not angry now. He's worried about Rory, about the tension in his face and in his posture. So he doesn't shout, or provoke Rory like he had that first day. Instead, he takes Rory's free hand in his and squeezes, gently. "Can I ask a question that might be kind of stupid?" he asks.

At first, it doesn't seem like Rory's going to answer. He's gripped in some intense, unnamable emotion, so strong that words seem genuinely beyond him at the moment. Then he swallows, hard, and his death grip on James's arm relaxes. Just a fraction. "Sure," he says.

"So… Rory, you're… you're not an idiot. I know you wouldn't hate Templars this much if you didn't have a good reason, but I can't figure out what that reason is. All the Templars in your life are good people. Shay, and Jeanne, they're really nice. And I don't think Aveline would have taught you to hate Templars, so why…?"

"Because they're… James…" Rory looks up at James, almost pleading. James nods as encouragingly as he can. But Rory frowns. "Maybe you wouldn't understand," he says. "You're not a visitor."

"Sure," James says. "Rub it in. But you can at least try and explain it, whatever it is. I promise I'll listen."

"Really?"

"Yea. Definitely."

"Well, I…" He takes a breath. "I was pretty young. Just a kid, and I visited Jenny. I still don't know what was going on in that visit. She was older there than she is now, and we don't really visit out of order in our group. Sometimes it happens, but mostly we're all kind of in synch." He smiles, but just for a second. It's a fragile little twitch of his mouth, and James watches it spring up and then promptly die away. "So… so I was a kid, and I showed up on this visit, I—it was bad. I remember swords, everywhere. And it smelled like blood, people were fighting. Then I s—I saw the Templar ring, and James I swear I'll never forget that moment as long as I live."

"But… Templars fight assassins. Assassins fight Templars. There's lots of blood on both sides of the fight, and it sucks, but it happens."

"Yea," Rory says. "But it wasn't assassins doing those things to Jenny, was it? And every time I start to think… well, you know, Jeanne's a nice person, or Dad has never done anything to hurt me, or you're…" he flushes. "You're amazing. Every time I think that maybe templars don't have to be evil, I remember how terrifying that visit was, and I think about how Templars are doing that all the time. Centuries and centuries of killing innocents, and manipulating people to get their own way, and it's just… terrifying."

James sits in silence for a moment, trying to make sense of everything Rory has said. Finally, he asks, "Are you terrified of me?"

"No," Rory says at once. "That's why I thought—why I still think—you must be more assassin than Templar."

"I'm a Templar all the way through," James says. Rory flinches. "I know what I believe in, and I know what I am." Now James fidgets a little as well. "Do you think you could love me anyway? It's only a few more months, and I really don't want to waste them."

"I don't  _ know _ , James. It's not that easy."

"You haven't had a problem with me so far."

"I thought I could talk you out of being a Templar," Rory admits. "But I guess that was stupid, wasn't it?"

"I promise I'm not a Templar like the ones that scared you," James says. "No one here is, Rory. I don't know if you can accept that, but it's true, and… and I'm going to regret it for the rest of my life if we waste the time we have left together. Do you think you could just… hate us a little less for the next couple of months? Please?"

Rory hugs him. It's so sudden and impulsive that at first, James thinks Rory is attacking him. It takes a moment or two for James to get his heartbeat back under control, but then he hugs Rory back. "I don't know what to do anymore," Rory admits. "I wish…"

But he doesn't finish the thought, and James doesn't push. But he wishes, too. 


	38. Chapter 38

Aveline kisses Haytham passionately, and backs him up against a wall. His hands slide down her back into her pants as he revels in her curves. "Shall we?" he asks, jerking his chin towards the bed.

"Mmm, I need to wash my hair," Aveline says regretfully between kisses.

"I can help," he offers, turning red.

She grins. "That sounds like a lovely idea." She kisses him one last time, then releases him from where she was holding him pinned to the wall. "Can you find my special towel? I think it's in the linen closet. I'm going to go run the water and get it warm."

Haytham can feel his face stretch into a silly grin. "Sure. Of course." He's in a daze as he stumbles to the linen closet, and doesn't even notice the noises coming from it. Not until he opens it, that is, and stares.

Rory and James are clutching one another, leaning against a shelf full of sheets and blankets. James's eyes are closed and his mouth open in an O of ecstasy, and Rory's eyes are traveling over James with a sort of fierce hunger as he thrusts.

Haytham watches for what seems like an eternity, frozen and unable to move or make a sound, until he manages a sort of anguished grunt of shame. Rory and James look up at him, and both flush red to match.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Rory demands, grabbing randomly at blankets and accidentally pulling down half the linen closet. "Watching us? Creepy Templar."

"Grandpa wasn't _watching_ us. That would be weird, right Grandpa?" James asks shakily, picking up his clothes and sort of holding them over his waist. "It was, it was just an accident. Right?"

"Yes, an accident," Haytham says numbly. "I was looking for Aveline's towel."

This was obviously the wrong thing to say, as Rory puffs up with anger. "And _why_ were you looking for my mother's towel?"

"For her hair," Haytham explains patiently. "She wanted to wash her hair."

"With your help?" Rory asks scathingly.

"Uh, probably," James interjects. "Your mom and my Grandpa are always doing stuff together." Rory scowls, disgusted.

Haytham quickly backs out of the linen closet and slams the door, practically running to the bathroom. Aveline frowns at him, concerned. "Did you not find my towel? I know exactly where it is--"

Haytham blocks her leaving. "No, no, I don't think it's there. Or I don't think you should look for it, anyway."

Aveline tries to duck under his arm. "I'm sure it's in the closet--"

Haytham clutches at her. "Rory and James are in there!"

Aveline purses her lips. "Are you sure?"

Haytham nods desperately. "I know what two men having sex looks like," he tells her quietly, deeply embarrassed. "And they were. They were having sex."

Aveline pulls a face. "Oh, I had hoped it hadn't come to that."

He nods. "I know. But it has. They were--they were--honestly, Aveline, I never wanted to see your son and my grandson together!"

"Poor Haytham," she laughs. "Shall I salve your wounded sense of propriety?" She leans into him, reaching up for a kiss.

"I don't think anything you could do is going to make me feel more proper," he admits, kissing her.

"Then we'll have to settle for making you feel wonderful," she tells him, taking his hand and tugging him towards the bathtub.


	39. Chapter 39

James makes a face as he reaches into the container of chicken livers. "These are vile, Grandpa," he reports.

Haytham drops the rowboat's anchor and smiles, reaching for his fishing rod. "I know. But I hear that catfish love them."

James sticks his tongue out as he tries to attach the liver to the fishhook. "Ohh, it's so awful. Look, it's melting." He tries repeatedly to get it to stay on the hook.

Haytham takes a liver of his own and jams the hook into it, gingerly tugging the liver to test its stability. It oozes slimily into his hand. "I see what you mean."

James manages to work his hook through a membrane in the liver, grimacing all the while, and casts his line, only to pick up his second rod and repeat the process. "This better work," he warns.

"We'll be eating catfish for lunch tomorrow," his grandfather promises, finally baiting the hook to his satisfaction and casting the line.

James snickers. "Your liver fell off."

"Did not," Haytham insists.

James shrugs. "I saw it."

Haytham sighs and reels in the empty hook. "All right, so that might not have worked."

"I think I've got the hang of it now. Want me to help?" James offers, and Haytham accepts, then casts a little more gently. James baits Haytham's second hook, and once again he flips it into the water with an underhand cast.

They settle into their uncomfortable benches and James offers Haytham a soda from the cooler, which he refuses. James sips his own, and after a long moment, he sighs. "Catfish isn't all you're fishing for, is it?"

Haytham eyes him in the soft twilight. "Now, why would you say that?"

James sets down his can of soda. "You want to talk about me and Rory," he guesses.

Haytham snorts. "I'd rather not."

"But Shay and Aveline asked you to. Or Mom and Dad," James presses. "And you brought me out here to talk."

"I brought you out here to catch catfish," Haytham corrects.

James jiggles his knee and fidgets with his hands. "These things don't bite fast, do they?"

Haytham shakes his head. "Not from what I read on the Internet."

"Which means we'll have a lot of time to talk," James says gloomily.

"If you want to," Haytham offers.

James scowls. "You're just going to say that it's a bad idea to be with Rory."

Haytham sighs. "James, he hates Templars. You're a Templar."

"He doesn't hate me," James insists.

"I could tell that, actually," Haytham says drily. James flushes.

"What were you doing in the linen closet, anyway?" James mutters, almost spitefully glad to see his grandpa blush. Although, ew, thinking about Grandpa and Aveline in the shower is as disgusting as it gets.

"The point is," Haytham continues after a moment, "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm old enough to date! I know I might get my heart broken."

"That's not the kind of hurt I'm talking about," Haytham says slowly.

James puts his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, trying not to think about how Rory's hidden blades make him feel hot and cold inside, shivery and quivery at the same time. "Rory's not like that. He--he wants me to stop being a Templar. He's not going to hurt me when he thinks he can convert me."

"But what about when he gives up trying?" Haytham asks.

James opens his mouth, closes it again. "He wouldn't," he insists. "Besides, it's not like _you_ don't sleep with an Assassin."

Haytham makes a face. "Aveline accepts me as a Templar. She's not looking to 'save' me from the Order."

"Well, maybe Rory will learn to accept me. Or maybe he won't. But Grandpa, he makes me feel like nobody else ever has. And he's only here for a year. It's not like we're going to get married or something. I'll never see him again, and even when he visits Elena, all we can do is talk," James says in a rush.

Haytham blinks. "You've thought about this."

James nods. "I've thought about nothing else since we met." He frowns. "I think I _love_ him, Grandpa. I mean, behind all his hatred of Templars, he's a really good person."

"I never doubted that," Haytham acknowledges. "But there _is_ a lot of that hatred."

James points to the fishing rod twitching at Haytham's left knee. "You've got a bite, Grandpa." When Haytham finishes reeling in the catfish and has re-baited his hook and cast his line again, neither of them knows how to bring the topic of Rory up again, so they talk of Templar business until, yawning, they take turns rowing back to the dock in the small hours of the morning. They have enough fish to feed the entire safehouse, and they've spent a companionable night on the lake, and that's something.


	40. Chapter 40

James has been thinking about the best way to say goodbye. He's been thinking and thinking, ever since probably around Thanksgiving when it really hit him that Rory's going to leave. James is going to miss him desperately—he's going to miss the way Rory looks for him when he enters a room, the way his face lights up when he sees James. He'll miss long talks on the roof. He'll miss sex.

It's hard to imagine that anyone will ever make him feel the way Rory does. That curious mix of danger and love, shivering through him, all the way into the core of his being until he thinks he'll just burst open from the pressure of keeping it inside.

He's never going to find that again.

On Christmas, when everyone else is inside working their way through the ridiculous heap of food they've been making for a week straight now, James goes up to the roof. It's cold—it's freezing, actually, literally freezing. But James knows Rory will come find him here, and after a few minutes he does.

"Why are you up here?" he grumbles, sitting next to James and huddling up for warmth. "Do you even know how lucky you are to have indoor heating? Because we don't have that at home, and I'm really going to miss it."

"It's too crowded in there," James says. "It's just us up here, and that's better."

"We could go back to bed," Rory says hopefully. "That would just be the two of us,  _ and  _ it would be warm."

"You'd just go back to sleep," James says.

"Well, yea," Rory says. "It's too early to be awake."

"Elena really likes Christmas," James says. "Her and Dad. They like to start early."

"I like to sleep," Rory complains. "Look, the sun's not even up yet—the  _ stars  _ are still out, James."

"Yea…" James sighs. "Rory?"

"Hmm?"

"Do the stars look the same in your time?"

Rory tilts his head up at the sky and considers it for a while. "My father would know better than I would," he admits, reluctantly. "All that sailing. But they have to be the same stars, don't they? Stars don't just… stop shining."

"Sometimes they burn out," James says. "They don't last forever."

They consider the stars in silence for a while. "I sort of wish you hadn't told me that," Rory says at last. "I liked thinking they were always the same."

James frowns. He's probably not going to get a better chance than this one. "Nothing lasts forever," he says. "Not stars. Not… not us."

Rory nods without looking at James. He seems resigned. "I'm going home soon," he says, like James doesn't know, like he's not counting down the days to when he'll never see Rory again.

"Yea," James agrees.

"And there's no point… waiting for each other," Rory says. "We'll never see each other again."

"It's better to end things now," James agrees.

"Or on New Year's," Rory says quickly. "We still have a week, I don't want to waste it."

James agrees quickly. He's not going to throw away the last week he and Rory are ever going to have together.

After a while, Rory says, "Do you think…if we'd met in different circumstances. If we lived in the same time… would we have worked out?"

"I hadn't thought of that," James says. "I don't know."

"But do you  _ think  _ so?" Rory presses.

"I hope so," James says quietly.

Rory makes a noise of absolute misery and turns toward James, kissing him—it's desperate and rough and perfectly matches James's own feelings at that moment. He doesn't want to think about Rory leaving, he doesn't want to give this up. It's easy to lose himself in Rory, and he throws himself enthusiastically into the kiss.

And then he hears a  _ schnick _ , the unmistakable sound of a hidden blade sliding out. James jerks his head and feels a sharp line of pain lance its way across the side of his face. He pulls away, hurt and suddenly, sharply confused. All year, there's been the threat of violence between them, the possibility of danger.

James had never actually expected to be hurt. The danger was attractive and fun and exciting because deep down, he'd never really believed that Rory would…

"Shit—" Rory pulls back too, looking horrified. "You're bleeding."

"Well  _ yea _ ," James says. His voice rises. "You just fucking stabbed me!"

"I didn't mean to!" Rory says. "You moved."

"Because you pulled a blade on me," James says. "What were you trying to  _ do _ ?"

"I…" Rory eases closer, watching James warily the whole time as if expecting him to bolt. One hand is clenched in a tight fist, but as he leans forward Rory opens his hand to reveal a lock of hair, maybe two inches long. "When we came through to this century, we were still wearing our usual clothes, we had our weapons, we were carrying what we had on us already. So… so, if I had something from you, I'd be able to keep a piece of with me. And hair—there's nothing suspicious about that, no one would guess I took it back from the future."

"Oh."

"Yea," Rory says. "Yea, it's… silly, isn't it? Sentimental—"

"Nothing wrong with that," James says. He reaches out, and closes Rory's hand back into a fist. "Don't forget me. Okay?"

Rory nods, expression tense. "Never," he promises. Then a shadow passes over his face, and he touches James's face with the hand not holding tight to his hair. James thinks he's being gentler than usual. "That's going to scar," he says. "I'm really sorry."

James shrugs. "I guess I have something to remember you by, too," he says. "And whenever someone asks me why I have a scar on my face, I can tell them that my first boyfriend accidentally stabbed me in the face."

"James!"

James laughs and springs to his feet, grabbing Rory's arm to pull him up as well. "Come on," he says. "Let's get inside—you're right, it's freezing out here."

Rory looks relieved, and lets James lead him off the roof and back into the safehouse. They gravitate toward where everyone else is gathered, talking loudly and thoroughly enjoying their Christmas morning. James is only just starting to warm up when his mom looks up at him, and does a double take.

"James," she says, in her  _ someone's in trouble  _ voice. "What happened to your face?"

"It's okay," James says. "Rory only stabbed me on  _ accident _ ."

Lots of people start shouting and freaking out after that, and it takes most of Christmas morning to calm them down again.


	41. Chapter 41

It's December 31, 2044. It's the worst New Year's Eve Elena has ever lived through, because it's also the last day her visitors are going to spend in her century. It's been a year, and that's not enough but it's all they're ever going to get, so…

She cries all day. They're all a little teary eyed, of course, all eight of them, and every time one of them seems like they're pulling themselves together, someone else starts crying again and then they're right back at the beginning again. Elena's the worst of them all—she's generally a mess these days, she's been all over the place since getting pregnant. And poor Matthew, who still can't decide how he feels about Elena carrying their child, keeps giving her these long, thoughtful looks that just break Elena's heart. She can't stand the tears in his eyes, and she always looks away before she can see him start crying.

Jeanne's pretty teary as well, which makes Jacob cry  _ and  _ Rory cry. Darim cries. Marcello insists he's  _ not  _ crying, despite all evidence to the contrary.

Jenny is the strongest of all of them. Her eyes are wet and there's a suspicious sort of wobble to her face that makes Elena think she's just  _ barely  _ holding back tears. But hold them back she does, and Elena can only imagine how hard that must be for her. Jenny's not just leaving her visitors, she's going back to a captivity she knows she won't escape on her own.

Somehow, she's still calm. There's a steel in her that Elena has not seen in her visitor since Birch took her captive, a kind of calmness, and eventually that calmness spreads to the others.

"Jenny," Elena says. "How are you so okay with all this?"

"There's nothing I can do to change my situation," Jenny says. "But I know more than I did before this year. I know when I'll be freed, and I know that I'm strong enough to last until then. My father finally taught me to use a sword, and it won't do me any good, it won't help me escape any sooner, but it changes how I see myself. I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

"I wish I was ready," Darim says glumly. The eight of them have claimed the safehouse's basement training room, and he's sitting with Marcello on one of the tables normally used for equipment. One arm is wrapped tight around Marcello's shoulder, like he's hoping to cheat time and drag his boyfriend home with him. Marcello, whose face is buried in Darim's shoulder, doesn't seem to mind at all.

"It's not like we'll never see each other again," Jacob says, in a voice that implies she's still trying to convince herself.

"But we'll never live together again," Jeanne says.

"Well, you're not getting rid of me," Rory says.

"I  _ know _ ," Jeanne says, sounding utterly desolate.

"Jeanne…."

"I'm teasing, Rory." She reaches over and pats his shoulder. "I've pretty much accepted that you're my brother and my visitor and I can't get rid of you."

He laughs, and it's awkward and a little bit sad, but it's friendlier than they would have been a year ago.

Silence stretches out between them, then, and Elena finds herself desperately casting about for something to say. It's just the eight of them now. All the other goodbyes have been said, and the only thing left is to wait for the year to end and send them home.

"Maybe it's not going to be  _ exactly  _ a year," Matthew suggests after a while. "I mean… we're just kind of guessing because our parents said they remembered us disappearing for  _ about a year _ , right? So maybe… maybe…"

"No," Elena says. "I'm the one that used that piece of Eden to bring you all here, and I just… it's hard to explain, but I sort of have this feeling." She closes her eyes, trying to find the words to explain the vague sense of foreboding, like a timer counting down. For a second, she focuses silently. "It just feels like we don't have much…" Her eyes blink open, and she lets the rest of what she was about to say die unspoken on her tongue.

She's alone in the room.

Elena cries a little more. Then she moves around the room, gathering up the bits and pieces her visitors have left behind, killing time because she's not ready to go upstairs and face everyone else again. She hadn't even gotten to say goodbye. They're just  _ gone _ , and Elena feels like she's been left reeling in the big, empty space that they've left.

She's almost out of excuses to stay in the basement when she feels an itch at the back of her neck, and starts to rub at it absentmindedly. It's been so long since she felt it that Elena takes almost a full thirty seconds to recognize it, and look up sharply to see whoever has come to visit her.

It's Matthew.

"Matthew," Elena says, smiling for the first time all day. "It's you."

"Yea." He smiles too. "I know."

Elena drops what she's doing because suddenly he's at her side, holding her, and even though he's not there he just  _ feels  _ so incredibly real. And why not? They'd met on a visit. Come to know each other on visits. Fallen in love during visits. It's always been good enough for them before.

"Did you get back okay?" Elena asks.

"Fine," Matthew says. "I'm missing you, and everyone, but I'm fine."

"Good to hear. How long's it been for you?"

"Two days."

Elena's smile shrinks a size or two. "It's been less than an hour for me," she says.

Matthew hugs her harder, and he holds her hand for the next forty five minutes, until his visit ends.


End file.
